


Working Something Out

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Leap of Faith - Menken/Slater/Cercone
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Leap of Faith AU, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: A Tumblr user suggested the idea of Sonny Carisi in the role of sheriff, instead of Marla, to Jonas Nightingale, and another blogger answered with their thoughts. Those ideas inspired me to write this. And, while I'd never even considered the pairing of Jonas and Sonny, I now have several ideas for follow-ups.You can see the original exchange, which was the basis for the fichere





	1. Chapter 1

Sonny’s heart sped up at the sight of Jonas Nightingale in the doorway—black muscle shirt and jeans, wrist braced against the edge of the door above his head, other hand on one sharply-cocked hip, arrogant smirk on his stubbled face—and he immediately scowled to cover his discomfiture.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” the reverend asked, with a little break of amusement in his voice.

Sonny cleared his throat. “Mr. Nightingale, I need you—”

“Call me Jonas, Son… _ny_ ” the other man cut in. He paused, while Sonny blinked at him, startled. “You were saying, you need me…?” Jonas prompted, his eyes sparkling with humor.

Sonny’s tongue darted out to dampen his lips. “To leave town,” he said, after a moment. “I need you to pack up your bus and leave Sweetwater. I know all about—” He broke off again as Jonas straightened and turned away from him; he watched as the reverend sauntered into the room.

“Come on in,” Jonas called over his shoulder. “Can I get you drink?”

Sonny wasn’t sure why he walked into the room. His feet seemed to move of their own volition, and he glanced around. “No,” he said, his gaze skimming over the laundry strewn across the bed. Jonas was already coming toward him with a glass of liquor, though, and Sonny reached for it without thinking. Smirking, Jonas moved past him and closed the door with a soft click.

“Cheers,” he said, holding out his flask, and when he drank from the silver receptacle, Sonny raised his own glass to his lips and sipped the burning liquor.

Jonas grinned at him, and Sonny suddenly realized what he was doing. He gave his head a little shake, and said, frowning, “I’ve seen your books, Mr. Nightingale. I know what you are, and I want you to leave Sweetwater.”

At the mention of his finances, Jonas’s smirk slipped. For a few moments, Sonny would swear there was real concern in the reverend’s green eyes. Then the cockiness was back in place, and with a tip of his head, Jonas asked, “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll take you out.”

“Take me out?” Jonas asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sonny felt a flush creeping into his cheeks, and before he realized what he was doing, he tossed his head back and swallowed the rest of his drink. It scorched his throat, and he winced. His voice was a little raspy when he clarified, “I’ll escort you and your whole bus to the edge of town myself.”

“Ah,” Jonas answered, with a knowing nod. “At gunpoint?”

Sonny wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk from the man’s face. He set his glass on the table with a clunk. “I don’t need a gun,” he said, pulling the handcuffs from his belt. “In fact, I think I’ll just arrest you right now. Mr. Nightingale—”

“If you wanted me in handcuffs, you just had to say so,” Jonas said. He took a slow step forward, and Sonny swallowed, flustered. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Work something out?” Sonny asked, suddenly breathless. He could smell Jonas, a musky, sweaty scent that was strangely appealing. “I’m taking you in,” he said, now barely aware of the words leaving his own lips. Jonas was staring at him, and Sonny couldn’t seem to look away.

“You can _take me in_ ,” Jonas said, his words slow and deliberate, his voice low and gravelly. He looked down at the bulge straining against Sonny’s fly, and back up at his face, smiling.

Sonny swallowed, his face burning. “Doesn’t change anything,” he muttered.

“No?” Jonas asked, arching a brow. “I’ll be gone by Monday, Sheriff,” he said. And then, as Sonny stared in helpless fascination, the reverend slowly and gracefully sank to his knees. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he repeated. “No one will ever know but us.”

Sonny couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The ache of desire in his groin was taking over his ability to think. The erection pulsing against the inside of his trousers was almost painful. “Put these on,” he managed, holding out the handcuffs with trembling fingers.

Jonas reached up and took the handcuffs, his fingers brushing Sonny’s as he stared up at him. While the sheriff watched, the reverend reached slowly behind his own back. The handcuffs jingled and clicked as he cuffed his own hands behind himself. He stared up at Sonny, smirking, waiting for the sheriff’s next move.

Sonny’s heart was thudding in his chest. He knew he couldn’t blame one drink, but before he knew it, his unsteady fingers were unbuckling his belt. Jonas watched with a hungry glint in his eyes and a cocky smirk at his lips, and Sonny was suddenly determined to wipe that smirk from his mouth.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, unbuttoning his fly, equal parts desire and nervousness coursing through him. It _was,_ of course. Sonny knew that Jonas was manipulating him, but in that moment, he didn’t care. All he cared about was that smirk.

“Mmhmm,” Jonas answered.

“You think you can take it?” Sonny asked.

“You think _you_ can take it?” Jonas returned with that crack of humor in his voice that made Sonny’s groin tighten in response.

Sonny freed his erection with one hand, watching Jonas’s face. There were no signs of fear, or trepidation, or any indication that Jonas—on his knees, hands cuffed behind his back, for all intents and purposes at Sonny’s mercy—felt anything other than in complete control of the situation.

His arrogance was more arousing than Sonny would’ve imagined possible. He ached to slide his fingers into the reverend’s slick hair, hold his head in place, and make him swallow his erection until he was choking on it.

Jonas knew exactly what Sonny was thinking; the knowledge was in the glint of his eyes, the tip of his lips, and Sonny moved forward before he could stop himself.

“You sure about this?” Jonas asked, his voice now smooth as silk. _You sure about this?_ As though he weren’t the one on his knees, handcuffed, incapacitated. _You sure about this?_ Sonny snaked his fingers into Jonas’s hair; it was soft and slick, and his fingertips pressed against Jonas’s scalp as he urged his head forward.

Jonas looked up at him, green eyes shining from beneath heavy lids, and opened his mouth. He ducked his head forward in spite of Sonny’s fist in his hair, and in a heartbeat he’d pulled Sonny’s erection into his mouth.

Sonny took a stumbling step forward, his hand tightening in the other man’s hair, his eyes closing as he bit back a groan. Jonas’s tongue massaged the underside of his shaft as the reverend pulled his cock all the way into the hot wetness of his mouth, until Sonny could feel the back of Jonas’s throat against the tip of his erection, and he almost lost control.

Jonas tipped his head, pulling back a bit until only an inch of cock was in his mouth, and flexed his jaw, sucking, his mouth tightening and loosening until a helpless sound escaped Sonny’s parted lips.

The sheriff opened his eyes and looked down to find green eyes watching him. A dark curl of hair was hanging onto Jonas’s forehead, bouncing as the man bobbed his head forward and back, as he once more swallowed Sonny’s length, his eyes never leaving the sheriff’s face.

Sonny’s other hand found its way into Jonas’s hair, and he shifted his hips forward, pushing himself deeper, watching Jonas’s face as he forced himself into the reverend’s throat, until Jonas made a small gagging sound and his eyes were shimmering, and then Sonny quickly released his hair, taking half a step backward.

Jonas caught the erection, before it could slip past his lips, with his teeth, flicking his tongue across the tip, and Sonny gasped. Jonas grinned around his cock, and Sonny almost came right then. He imagined the smug, self-satisfied look that would settle into Jonas’s features, and Sonny clenched his jaw, determined to get himself under control.

“You like choking on it?” he asked unevenly.

Jonas’s lips closed around Sonny’s shaft. “Mmhmm,” he hummed, the vibration sending a shiver through Sonny’s body.

Even though he knew it was what Jonas wanted him to do, Sonny couldn’t seem to stop himself; he grabbed the other man’s hair in both fists and drove himself forward, relishing the little clicking sound that came from Jonas’s strained throat.

Holding the reverend’s head in place, Sonny started fucking his mouth in earnest, thrusting his hips, watching Jonas’s face. Jonas held his gaze the entire time, in spite of the tears leaking from his eyes and the saliva dripping from his chin and the involuntary gagging sound coming from his throat with each deep thrust.

Sonny was close to filling the other man’s throat with cum, and for a moment, unable to break his gaze away from Jonas’s, he didn’t think he was going to be able to stop himself. Then, finding a last shred of willpower, reminding himself of the smugness that would follow, he managed to withdraw.

He released Jonas’s hair and took two quick steps backward, pulling his cock from Jonas’s wet mouth with a popping sound. Jonas had to move a knee forward to keep himself upright, and he looked surprised—but only for a moment. Saliva dripped from his chin as he grinned.

The reverend looked up—his lips were parted, glistening; his cheeks were flushed, his green eyes bright—at Sonny’s face, and the cockiness had already settled back into his handsome features. Sonny grabbed the front of Jonas’s shirt and hauled him up; Jonas got his feet beneath himself easily, but when Sonny turned him and pushed him toward the bed, the reverend stumbled backward and would’ve fallen without the mattress behind his thighs. He sat down, still smirking. He turned his face, lifted a shoulder, and wiped his chin on his shirt.

Sonny pushed him backward so he was lying with his arms pinned beneath himself, his feet still on the floor, and quickly unbuttoned and unzipped the reverend’s jeans. Jonas wasn’t wearing underwear, and Sonny’s breath caught at the sight of the erection springing free from the maw of the zipper.

“Still gonna take me in?” Jonas murmured, and Sonny met those green eyes and saw the smug challenge simmering there.

“Until you beg,” Sonny heard himself say.

“Never,” Jonas said, grinning, but the challenge burned brighter than ever in his eyes. Sonny grabbed the other man’s jeans and tugged them downward, past his hips and down to his knees. He was going to pull them all the way off and thought better of it. The more constricted Jonas was, the better. Jonas seemed to guess at this thought when Sonny straightened, because he let out a quiet chuckle and made no attempts to kick the jeans the rest of the way off.

Sonny glanced around the room.

“Nightstand,” Jonas told him.

Sonny left the reverend on the bed—arms beneath his back, jeans around his knees, cock hard and waiting—and went to the head of the bed, pulling open the drawer. He grabbed the tube of lube and returned to Jonas’s legs.

Sonny’s own erection was still protruding from the gaping flaps of his trousers, the air cool against his wet, sensitive skin. It would only take a few strokes to finish himself off, and he considered the idea. He could leave Jonas, white strands of cum on his black clothes, leave him unsatisfied and restrained, and stroll away.

The reverend might be surprised, and he would certainly be frustrated, but he would also be amused. Sonny didn’t want his amusement—he wanted to see the other man’s control slip, wanted to hear him moan, wanted to see those green eyes roll up into his head if only for a moment.

Jonas’s erection twitched when the cold stream of lubrication trickled down its length. Sonny closed the cap and tossed the tube aside. He took the cock in one fist and quickly spread the lube with a few squelching strokes. Jonas, in spite of himself, made a little grunting sound, and it was finally Sonny’s turn to smile. He couldn’t explain, even to himself, how exhilarating it was to hear that involuntary grunt, and he vowed to himself that it wasn’t the last sound he’d make Jonas utter. _Not feeling so in control now, are you?_ he thought, but when he looked at Jonas’s face, he knew that wasn’t true. Jonas had gotten exactly what he wanted from Sonny, every step of the way so far.

Sonny knew he could, and should, stop and walk away. Instead, he kicked off his shoes, pushed his trousers over his slender hips, belt and all, and shucked them aside. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt, then stripped it up and over and his head, tossing it aside. He stood in nothing but his socks, and Jonas’s hungry gaze slid over his body. Sonny suppressed a shiver of anticipation.

Without a word, he moved forward and put a knee on the mattress beside Jonas’s leg, shifting forward to straddle his thighs. He was on the edge of the bed, but he held Jonas’s gaze as he walked forward on his knees. Jonas laid his head back against the dirty clothes strewn across the bedspread, watching him from beneath his lashes.

Sonny hesitated. He didn’t want to admit it, but Jonas’s size was intimidating.

Jonas shifted his shoulders a bit, and tipped his chin. “I’ve got _all night_ ,” he said. His words were taunting, mocking—but Jonas’s tone was soft, tempering the condescension, making the statement one of permission to go slowly.

Sonny took a deep breath and reached behind himself, taking Jonas’s slick erection in his hand. The heat seemed to sear Sonny’s palm as he positioned himself. He lowered himself down, slowly, watching Jonas’s face for his reaction.

He took in an inch, and hesitated, shifting his knees a bit, taking a moment to regroup. He lifted himself up, readjusted, and moved down again. Jonas’s lips were parted, his eyes bright and watchful, his muscles tensed. He waited while Sonny sank down half of his length and paused again.

Jonas shifted his hips, and Sonny gasped, choking back the sound that tried to escape his throat—something close to a whimper. He met Jonas’s gaze and swallowed. Jonas arched an eyebrow, a silent challenge: _Think you can take it?_

“Is that all you’ve got?” Sonny managed, bracing himself—mentally and physically.

Jonas grinned up at him, flexing his hips. His shirt was bunched up above his belly button, and his muscles tensed and rippled as he moved. Sonny held onto the bedspread, his legs taut as he held himself still. Jonas arched upward, filling and stretching him, and Sonny closed his eyes. Jonas moved slowly, in and out, twice.

And then Jonas was thrusting into him, again and again, fast and rough, all of his muscles straining with the effort, and Sonny had just enough presence of mind left to marvel at the other man’s strength, and control—and determination. He couldn’t help but imagine what the reverend would be capable of with a full range of motion, and the very thought brought Sonny to the edge of orgasm. He caught his breath, fighting the sensation, wanting to make Jonas work for it.

Jonas slowed and then stopped, relaxing his hips onto the bed, barely an inch inside of Sonny. Sonny looked up at him. “You can come,” Jonas said. _I don’t need your permission_ , Sonny thought, gritting his teeth, more determined than ever to hold on—but before he could say anything, Jonas added, in a low voice, “Come for your daddy Jonas.”

The words, and the deep rumble of his voice, were as effective as if Jonas had actually taken Sonny’s cock in his hand, and Sonny was helpless to resist the quiet command. As he felt his muscles beginning to spasm, he sank back, down onto Jonas’s cock, down, taking the entire length into his ass. Jonas’s smirk faded, and his eyes closed – only for a moment, just a couple of seconds, but the reverend’s soft groan was the most satisfying sound Sonny had ever heard.

Sonny’s manhood twitched and squirted hot streams of semen onto Jonas’s bare stomach as Sonny settled, firmly, all the way down. He didn’t touch himself; he didn’t need to. As his tremors subsided, he looked at Jonas’s face. Jonas tried to shift, and couldn’t move.

Sonny smiled. “Do you think you can come like this?” he asked, his voice low and just a little unsteady. “Arms behind you, legs immobilized, me…tight, not moving, just waiting…” he trailed off, his smile stretching into a grin at the small frown that dipped between Jonas’s brows. Sonny leaned forward, bracing his fists on either side of Jonas’s hips. “Do you want me to let you move?” he asked.

Jonas tried again to adjust his hips, but Sonny had him pinned. If Jonas really bucked, he might be able to dislodge him—Sonny wouldn’t underestimate the man’s strength, not after the recent display. 

“You can come,” Sonny said, throwing the reverend’s words back at him. Jonas swallowed. Sonny clenched his muscles, tightening himself around the other man’s erection, and asked, “Does this help?”

Jonas’s eyes closed, and his head tipped back against the bed. Sonny could see the veins standing out in his neck. When Sonny adjusted his weight, an involuntary moan slipped past Jonas’s parted lips, and Sonny didn’t want to torture him anymore. He wanted to see Jonas’s face when he came. Wanted to look into those green eyes and know that he’d brought him to the edge and pushed him over.

Sonny lifted himself up, slowly, until just Jonas’s tip was inside him. He waited, raising his eyebrows. Jonas held his gaze, arching his back, his stomach and thighs clenching, as he pushed upward. He moved slowly, though, and Sonny marveled again at the man’s self-restraint—particularly since his own cum, glistening on Jonas’s belly, was a testament to his own lack of restraint.

Jonas moved his hips up and down a few times, and Sonny knew that he was close. When Jonas sank back onto the mattress, Sonny pushed himself up and off the other man’s cock without a word, wincing as he freed himself. He took Jonas’s manhood in his fist and met his eyes. Jonas’s breaths were shallow, but Sonny knew he could have him panting in no time.

“Say my name,” Sonny said.

Jonas’s lips quirked.

Sonny tightened his fist and waited.

“Sonny,” Jonas said, the silkiness of his voice sending a shiver through Sonny’s body.

Sonny kept his strokes gentle, to prolong the inevitable, but when he saw Jonas’s stomach tighten and quiver, when he heard the man’s breathing growing ragged, he finished him off with several quick, rough jerks, watching the semen spurt and splatter, watching it trickle down his fist. He released him and shifted backward, stepping to the floor and straightening.

They stared at each other for several moments, and the smug satisfaction on Jonas’s face was exactly as Sonny had imagined. Without a word, he turned and went into the bathroom, where he quickly washed his hands. When he returned to the other room, Jonas was sitting on the foot of the bed, his feet on the floor, hands behind his back, pants around his knees. He watched in silence as Sonny stepped into his trousers, watched as he fastened his buckle, watched as Sonny pulled his shirt over his head and tucked it into his waistband. He watched as Sonny slipped on his shoes and adjusted his belt.

Sonny turned toward him and said, “Get up and I’ll uncuff you.”

Jonas rolled his shoulders with a little wince and rose to his feet. Sonny heard the jangle of the cuffs and, a moment later, Jonas drew his hands from behind his back, handcuffs dangling from one long finger. He arched an eyebrow and smirked.

Sonny took the cuffs without comment, watching as the reverend pulled his jeans up and stuffed his cock inside. Jonas yanked the zipper up but left the button undone. Sonny swallowed and, pulling his gaze away, headed for the door. He could feel Jonas following behind him, but he didn’t look back until he’d opened the door and stepped outside. He glanced around, and thankfully didn’t see anyone.

The sound of Jonas’s voice made him look back. “You might want to fake a limp,” Jonas suggested, amused by the way Sonny was walking. “Say you twisted your ankle or something.”

“ _Fake_ a limp?” Sonny muttered, and Jonas’s quiet chuckle made his belly tighten. “Thanks for the tip, I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“Yeah,” Jonas said. He tipped his head. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, Sheriff,” he said, and Sonny was caught off guard by the other man’s apparent sincerity. “I’ll be here all weekend if there’s anything else I can help you with.” Sonny stared at him, unsure what to say. Jonas’s face suddenly split into a grin. “See ya around,” he said, slowly closing the door in Sonny’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter that literally no one asked me to write. Ha. And...there will be more. Whether anyone wants it or not.

Sheriff Carisi woke with a single thought in his mind: _I don’t know how he tastes._

For several moments, he stared up at the ceiling, not breathing, aware only of an ache in his belly and the disjointed, seemingly-nonsensical thought. His forehead was marred by a frown of confusion. He looked down at the erection distorting his boxers, and a sudden image rose, unbidden: green eyes, flashing at him in the early morning light.

 _Nightingale_ , Sonny thought. He could almost feel Jonas’s mouth closing around him, and he groaned, putting a hand over his eyes. He could still feel the ghost of Jonas’s cock in his ass, even after twelve hours. He swallowed, cursing himself.

_What were you thinking? You’re supposed to be protecting the town from a conman, not letting him shove his—_

He broke that thought off, swinging his legs out of bed with a wince and a sound of irritation. Had he made a _deal_ with the conman determined to swindle Sweetwater’s residents out of their last pennies? Not exactly. He’d never agreed to let the reverend and his revivalists stay in town through the weekend.

 _You never said they couldn’t_ , he thought, cursing himself again. No, he hadn’t. He’d given in to Jonas like a horny teenager, and had basically given Jonas permission—even if he hadn’t said so aloud—to stay until Monday.

And what was he thinking of now, while the sun was just breaking free of the horizon? Going to Jonas and telling him in no uncertain terms that he had to leave? That what had happened between them didn’t change anything? No. He was thinking about going back to Jonas’s room, alright, but not to do much talking.

“Get control of yourself,” he muttered. _He makes a living by ripping people off. It’s your job to stop him, not fuck him_. Sonny shook his head, swallowing. He might not be able to control his traitorous thoughts, but he could certainly control his actions.

He pushed to his feet and went to take a cold shower, determined to punish himself for his weakness.

 

*       *       *

 

Jonas Nightingale covered every inch of the makeshift stage when he performed—even in rehearsals. Sonny watched in helpless fascination as the man danced and gyrated from one corner to the other, singing about _stepping into the light_ , and the sheriff couldn’t help but think of a shark. Jonas seemed unable to stop moving for more than a few seconds.

 _He puts on a good show, I’ll give him that,_ Sonny thought. It wasn’t difficult to see why people were so willing to give him their money, so eager to believe him; he was mesmerizing on stage, full of a contagious electricity that made anything seem possible. And, Sonny hadn’t even seen the real show, yet. He could tell that Jonas was only half-interested in the rehearsal; he seemed to be skipping half of his lyrics and moves.

When the blonde woman—Sam—strode onto the stage, waving a hand to stop the choir, Jonas looked annoyed. He stood with his hands on his hips, scowling at her, and said, “What?”

“You’re gonna have to do better, Jonas,” she said. “You should know your words by now.”

“You should know by now that I’m better at winging it,” he shot back. “Calm down, Sam.”

“We need this, Jonas. These people don’t have much. If you want them to give it to _you_ , you’re going to have to be better—and sexier, for God’s sake.”

 _Is that possible?_ Sonny thought.

“Feel free to shake your ass in the faces of a few old men,” Jonas said.

“Right,” she snapped. “Except, when you let them touch, we make more money. When _I_ let them touch, you break their hands and we get chased out of town by a bunch of rednecks with rifles.”

“I broke one hand,” Jonas said. “And he’s lucky I didn’t break it _off_ and make him swallow it.”

She sighed. “Jonas, I’m _worried_ ,” she answered, her tone softening.

“Don’t I always come through?” he asked. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath before running a hand through his hair. He looked at the woman, reached out and settled his hand onto her shoulder. “I’ll take care of it, Sam, I always do,” he told her.

Sonny felt a little guilty for listening in on this private exchange—but only a little. They were grifters, talking about conning his townspeople out of money with promises of salvation and a few sexy dance moves, and Sonny needed to stay ahead of them. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“We have our permits, Sheriff,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “I got them signed this morning, and—”

“I know,” Sonny cut in, walking forward out of the shadows. “I’m just observing, for now. Supervising.”

“You can’t shut us down,” she said.

Sonny tipped his head, regarding her. “Oh, I _can_ ,” he answered. “Permit or no permit, and I _will_ at the first sign of trouble.”

“Trouble?” she asked, lifting her chin and forcing a smile. “This is a spiritual show, Sheriff. We bring salvation, not trouble.”

Sonny smiled. “Of course,” he said. Jonas had remained silent through this exchange, and Sonny knew by the way that Sam glanced over at him that his reticence was uncommon. He finally gathered enough courage to meet the reverend’s eyes, and immediately felt a jolt as he remembered the way those eyes had looked, tears leaking from the corners, as Jonas swallowed Sonny’s cock.

“Everyone can use a little salvation, Sheriff,” Jonas said, his lips quirking in a knowing smirk.

“It’s my job to make sure you don’t take advantage of anyone,” Sonny answered.

“I never take anything that’s not given willingly,” Jonas responded, his voice silky. “I daresay, _eagerly_ , even,” he added.

 _Yeah_ , Sonny thought, and he could feel his cheeks heating. He cursed himself a thousand times over for his lack of control, even now while Sam was standing a few feet away. _What is WRONG with you? Get CONTROL of yourself_.

“What my brother means is, people come to him for spiritual guidance of their own—”

“What people choose to believe is their business,” Sonny cut in, pulling his gaze from Jonas’s before he _really_ embarrassed himself. “I won’t stop them from coming to your…show. Sometimes even false hope is better than no hope at all, and this town has been hurting for a long time. But the moment you start to prey on their—”

“Our brand of _praying_ has an ‘a,’ not an ‘e,’ Sheriff,” Sam said.

Sonny blinked at her. Suddenly, Jonas laughed—not a chuckle, but a real laugh, and Sonny looked at him, startled, his groin tightening at the sound.

“Quick, Sis, but not your best,” Jonas said, as Sam glared at him. Sonny couldn’t breathe. He’d already wanted Jonas—even trying to deny it, to himself or to the reverend, would be stupid.

But that _laugh_ —

Scowling, Sam turned her attention back to Sonny and said, “You’re welcome to stay through rehearsals—”

“I’m done rehearsing,” Jonas said, looking at her, his smile fading.

“Jonas,” she said.

“ _Sam_ ,” he returned. “I told you, I’ll do it on the fly, like always.”

“I need you to be—”

“It doesn’t make any _sense_ without an audience,” Jonas cut in, clearly agitated.

She opened her mouth and seemed to think better of whatever she’d been about to throw back at him. Instead, she glanced at Sonny, shot her brother a dirty look, and muttered, “Do whatever you want, like usual. You boys have fun.” She turned and stormed off, barking orders toward the crew and choir.

“Did you tell her—” Sonny started, his stomach squirming uneasily.

“Of course not.”

“She said—”

“You don’t exactly have a poker face.”

“If you told her about—”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship,” Jonas said.

Sonny hesitated. He wasn’t sure if Jonas was talking about him, or Sam.

Jonas arched an eyebrow. “Do you tell your sister about every blowjob you give?” he asked.

“I’ve never—” Sonny broke off, his cheeks suddenly flaming.

“Ah, the _ask and receive_ type?” Jonas said, grinning. He tipped his head, regarding Sonny, and added, his voice softer, “Nah, I’ll bet you never had to ask.”

Sonny had to clear his throat. “Look,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing around. No one seemed to be within earshot. “What happened yesterday, won’t happen again.”

Jonas smiled. “I try to never do the same thing twice,” he answered. “Life’s so boring, that way.”

“You know what I mean,” Sonny muttered, wondering why he kept turning into an idiot around this man. “And if you say anything—”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Jonas said.

 _I never kissed you_ , Sonny thought.

As though reading his mind, Jonas smirked and said, in a low voice, “Well. I don’t _suck_ and tell, either. Did you sleep well, Sheriff?”

“Not really,” Sonny was surprised to hear himself say.

Jonas tipped his head forward a bit. “Which did you dream of?” he asked, his lips barely moving. “My mouth on your cock, or my cock up your ass?”

Sonny licked his lips, nervously. “Neither,” he admitted. He hesitated. _One way or another, he’ll be gone by Monday_ , he thought. _Is it really the worst thing in the world, to just—_

“Sheriff Carisi!” a voice called, and Sonny turned to see a boy running toward him.

“Whoa, Bobby, slow down,” he said as the kid skidded to a stop beside him. “What’s the matter?”

“Momma needs you over by the water tower, someone’s been painting it up again!”

Sonny sighed. “Okay,” he said. Graffiti was not exactly an emergency. “Take a breath, son,” he added. “Meet me at my car, I’ll drive you back.”

“Yessir,” Bobby answered, hurrying away.

“You lead an exciting life,” Jonas remarked, drily, when the two men were once more alone.

“Excitement is overrated,” Sonny answered. “There’s something to be said for living in a small town where you know everyone. To have people who depend on you. I mean, I guess you know about that, at least,” he added, nodding toward Sam and the choir in the background. “I spray-painted that water tower myself, as a kid. Now, I carry a can of paint up there and paint _over_ the graffiti.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Roots run deep around here. Maybe it’s not exciting, but it’s life.”

Sonny thought Jonas might make a joke about _deep roots_ , but the reverend regarded him in silence. He wasn’t even smirking.

“But don’t get your hopes up,” Sonny added with a smile. “I’ll be back for your show tonight.” He turned and strode away before the other man could answer.

 

*       *       *

 

Sonny was only half-finished painting over the graffiti when he heard the creaking sounds of someone climbing the wooden ladder. It was nearly sunset, and the day had grown cooler. He was sweating, though. He wiped his forearm across his damp forehead as he turned to look toward the top of the ladder.

He’d taken off his uniform to keep from splattering it with paint, and was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. He kept them in his trunk, just for situations like this. He would have to change back into his uniform before going to the revival.

As though the thought had conjured him, Sonny saw Jonas’s face appear above the ladder. His stomach immediately fluttered in response. “You need something?” he asked as the reverend climbed higher and bent his elbow around the edge of the railing.

Jonas grinned, glancing at Sonny’s crotch—more or less at eye level—and back up to his face. “Kidding, relax,” he said, quickly climbing the rest of the way up and hopping off the ladder with a crooked smile. “Look, I didn’t mean to insult your town, alright? I just wanted to say that. It seems…nice, here.”

Sonny was surprised. He regarded Jonas, trying to decide if he was being sincere. The man was an expert at conning people. “I know you think we’re a bunch of hicks,” he said. “We’re the sheep and you, you’re the big bad wolf who comes into town in a…wool coat—”

Jonas faked a shudder. “I never wear wool,” he said.

“Disguise, making false promises—”

“I deliver on my promises,” Jonas interrupted, frowning.

“Right,” Sonny said. “You promise miracles.”

Jonas tipped his head. “You don’t believe in miracles?”

Sonny turned away. He dipped his brush into the bucket of paint and slapped it against the side of the water tower. “No,” he said.

“You’ve got both St. Christopher and St. Michael on the dash of your cruiser,” Jonas said, behind him.

Sonny looked over his shoulder. “I never said I didn’t believe in God—I said I don’t believe in miracles. Especially your brand.”

Jonas was silent.

“You take people’s money—”

“I’m not a thief.”

“No? I’ve seen your finances, remember?”

“That’s not stealing.”

“The IRS would disagree.”

“The IRS shouldn’t have their hands anywhere—”

“You’re not a church, you’re a guy on a bus, with a choir and some fancy clothes. But, honestly? I don’t care about your tax status, Mr. Nightingale. I only care about this town. If you don’t hurt them, then you and I don’t have a problem.”

“Well, I have a problem,” Jonas returned. “All day, I’ve been thinking about what you said. Or almost said.”

Sonny laughed. “So you, what? Came here to _altruistically_ let me give you a—”

Jonas frowned and waved a hand. “I didn’t come to get sucked off,” he interrupted, sounding annoyed, and Sonny felt himself beginning to harden at the choice of words. He’d been doing an adequate job of keeping his desire at bay, but the thought of getting on his knees—the thought of watching Jonas’s face as he pleasured him—was too powerful to ignore. “I just…wondered…Was yesterday the first time you had a dick in your—”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” Sonny said. He reached down and set the paintbrush across the top of the paint can.

“Jesus,” Jonas said, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t…I mean, I know you hesitated, but I didn’t—”

“Hey, relax,” Sonny said. “You didn’t make me do anything—Believe me, I wanted it.” He laughed, shaking his head. “And apparently I wanted to prove something. So if you came here because—”

Jonas moved forward quickly. He put a hand against Sonny’s chest and pushed him against the wall of the tower; Sonny was momentarily startled, but he did nothing to resist. His heart was pounding in his chest, but it wasn’t fear he was feeling.

“That’s wet paint you just shoved me into,” he said, breathlessly, but he couldn’t actually have cared less.

“I’m _here_ ,” Jonas said, “because I can’t get the taste of you out of my mouth.” He bent his head close to Sonny’s, his breath fanning his face. “And I want to taste more. All of you. I want your cum in my mouth. That’s the problem _I_ have. Do you have a problem, Sheriff?”

“I don’t know how you taste,” Sonny heard himself say. Then, further surprising himself, he admitted: “That’s what I woke up thinking this morning.”

Jonas reached out and laid his palm against the fly of Sonny’s jeans. “Did you wake up with this, too?” he murmured.

Sonny bit back a groan, with effort. “Yes,” he said.

“Did you think of me when you got yourself off?”

“Obviously I would’ve,” Sonny answered. “But I didn’t—I took a cold shower.”

His voice low, Jonas said, “Have you been saving it up all day for me?”

Sonny made a sound in his throat. He couldn’t help it. The pressure of Jonas’s hand at his crotch was light, and Sonny shifted, pressing himself against the other man’s palm. “Yes,” he said, and he realized it was true. In spite of all of the denials he’d offered himself, and Jonas, he’d known deep down that he would eventually succumb.

“I have to be on stage in an hour. How long do you think you can last with my mouth—”

Sonny took hold of Jonas’s shirt and turned him, pushing him against the wall, but he was careful to avoid the wet paint. His own clothes had been chosen for the job; he didn’t want to ruin Jonas’s.

“I’m a cop, Mr. Nightingale,” he said, quietly. “We’re out in the open, way up here, in the daylight…where anyone could see us. That can’t happen, do you understand?”

Jonas’s back was against the wall, but he shifted his hips forward, pressing his crotch against Sonny’s. “Can you still feel me, inside of you?” he murmured. “When you sit, when you walk…”

“Yes,” Sonny answered. “You’re still there.”

“Then I can wait,” Jonas said, smirking at him. He lifted a hand and ran a finger down the front of Sonny’s t-shirt. “Are you wearing this to the revival? You’ve got paint all over you…”

“No. My uniform’s in the car.”

“Can I help you change…?”

Sonny let out a breathless little laugh. “I think I can manage.”

“Can I…ask you a personal question?” Jonas asked, sounding suddenly and uncharacteristically hesitant.

Sonny smiled. “Personal?” he said. His tone was amused, but there was a new wariness in his eyes that didn’t escape Jonas’s notice.

“You said you grew up around here, but I’d swear that’s a New York accent,” Jonas said. The relief that settled into Sonny’s expression didn’t escape the reverend’s notice, either, and Jonas filed the observation into the back of his mind.

“Only when I’m annoyed,” Sonny answered. “It makes sense that _you’d_ hear it.” Jonas grinned. Sonny sighed and stepped back, putting space between their bodies. “I lived in Staten Island and Manhattan, for about fifteen years,” he said. He braced himself for Jonas’s next question: _What brought you back to Sweetwater?_

Jonas read his body language, and the tightness of his expression, however, and didn’t ask. Instead, he said, “It’s almost dark.”

Sonny laughed. “Not dark enough,” he said. “And I have painting to finish.” He looked down and pointed a finger toward Jonas’s crotch. “You gonna go take care of that before your show?”

“Not unless you want to watch.”

“All that dancing, running…all that friction…”

“I promise not to come in my pants…much,” Jonas said. “I’ll keep it primed for you.”

“I hope so,” Sonny said, with a crooked smile. “I mean, I know you don’t like doing the same thing twice, so if you get a better offer—”

“Oh, we won’t do the same thing,” Jonas cut in, his voice as smooth as silk. “I’m not letting you out of my mouth until I’m choking on your cum,” he said, and Sonny closed his eyes, making an involuntary sound. “Could I make you come right now, with just the sound of my voice?” Jonas asked.

“Probably,” Sonny admitted without looking at him.

“Good. But don’t, not yet. Be a good boy and keep it waiting for me.”

“God help me,” Sonny muttered.

Jonas grinned at him.

 

*       *       *

 

Sonny left after the revival, when most of the townspeople were drifting toward home. Jonas and his choir had put on a good show, and had known a lot about the members of the audience—if Sonny were to guess, he’d say that Sam was in charge of investigating the townspeople, of finding things that Jonas could use to convince them of his divinity, and Sonny couldn’t help but wonder what she’d learned about him and his family.

He’d returned to the water tower to finish painting in the dark, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all, himself. The painting could, and should, wait until morning. What he was really doing was waiting for Jonas. They couldn’t go to Sonny’s house, and he didn’t really want to be seen going to Jonas’s room late at night. They could take a ride in Sonny’s car, but there was something exciting about the water tower.

Sonny had never been an exhibitionist, and he was a strict believer in following the law. In the dark, no one would see them, though. And, if he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that it wasn’t being on the water tower that was exciting. It was being there with _Jonas_ , who pushed buttons that Sonny had never known he possessed.

When Sonny heard the creak of the ladder, his heart rate suddenly doubled, and he felt his skin prickling in the cool breeze. He kept his breaths shallow, trying to stay calm. He pictured Jonas, dancing across that stage, hips thrusting, pelvis swinging—Sonny knew he hadn’t been alone in his desire. Most of the audience had been lusting after Jonas by the middle of the revival, and Jonas had seemed perfectly content to let them put their hands all over him. Sonny didn’t blame him, really; as Sam had said, seduction was part of the show, and they were in it to make money.

Jonas’s eyes had found Sonny’s several times during the show, but the sheriff didn’t let himself read too much into that. For one thing, he was there to observe, and Jonas and Sam both knew that he could, and would, shut the revival down if they gave him the slightest cause. That was reason enough for them to want to keep an eye on him.

Aside from that, Sonny knew that Jonas wanted him. He was using Sonny’s attraction to him to get what he wanted—to stay in town through the weekend. He was manipulating the sheriff, but he was making no secret of it. It didn’t change the fact that he also _wanted_ Sonny—they’d had fun together, as two consenting adults. Sonny couldn’t deny the truth of that. He also couldn’t deny the pull of desire in his groin, even now, as he heard Jonas stepping off the top of the ladder.

Sonny knew that Jonas could’ve gone home with any single member of the audience—and even a few of the married ones. He could’ve taken someone back to his bus or, Sonny was sure, visited the room of any beautiful young member of his choir. Instead, here he was, back on the water tower, returning to Sonny as he’d promised he would.

Sonny let out a breath, set his paintbrush down, and turned to face him in the moonlight. “Mr. Nightingale,” he said.

He saw a flash of teeth as Jonas grinned. “Sheriff Carisi,” he answered. He tipped his head. His eyes were bright in the moonlight. “What’d you think of the revival?”

“You put on a good show, I said it before,” Sonny answered. “You know how to get what you want from people.”

“There’s always an exchange,” Jonas said. “Give and take…”

“A lot of people had their hands on you tonight.”

Jonas chuckled. “Go ahead and check,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing the flaps open.

Sonny could barely see him in the darkness, but he stepped forward and slipped his hand into the front of Jonas’s pants.

“See?” Jonas asked. “Hardly any cum at all.”

Sonny wrapped his hand around Jonas’s semi-erect penis and pulled it from his pants. “Not all the way primed, though, is it?”

Jonas reached out and tapped a knuckle against Sonny’s fly. The sheriff hissed in a breath, and Jonas said, “Yours, either. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you weren’t sure I was coming back for you. Don’t worry. Nothing could make me harder than sucking you off. Drop your pants, Sheriff.”

Sonny unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down his hips.

“It’s a shame I won’t be able to talk. I know how you like the sound of my voice,” Jonas said, and Sonny closed his eyes, drawing a breath through his nose as the cool night air swirled around his erection. He felt Jonas’s hand slide up his inner thigh. “You do like the sound of my voice…right, Sonny?” Jonas asked, softly.

“Yes,” Sonny answered, shifting himself against Jonas’s hand.

“I want you to keep your eyes closed, Sonny,” the reverend said. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.” He wouldn’t be able to see him in the dark, anyway, not very well. His memory would serve him far better than his eyes.

Jonas took him by his hips and turned him, and Sonny felt a moment’s apprehension. He tensed and almost opened his eyes; he kept them closed with effort, and in a second felt the railing against his back.

“That’s a good boy,” Jonas murmured, and Sonny could tell by the softness of the reverend’s voice that he was pleased by the trust that Sonny had shown. Still holding Sonny’s naked hips, Jonas nudged his feet apart and pushed his jeans a little further down his thighs.

The breeze swirled around them, surrounding Sonny with Jonas’s scent even after the reverend sank to his knees. Then, warmer than the night air, Sonny felt Jonas’s breath softly caressing him. He reached back and held the railing on either side of himself, bracing.

The railing was sturdy; Sonny had been overseeing any necessary repairs himself, for years, determined to keep the water tower safe for the kids who were determined to deface the structure. Even though he knew the railing was sound, he was very aware of the drop right behind him. It added speed to his heartbeat and a flutter to his stomach, almost indistinguishable from his anticipation.

He felt Jonas’s tongue flick across the tip of his erection, and Sonny pressed his lips together to hold back his curse. He’d never been short on self-control, not until meeting Jonas. For two days, he’d been in a near-constant state of arousal, always on the edge of embarrassing himself. He couldn’t explain it, and he’d made little attempt to fight it.

Jonas’s mouth closed around him, and Sonny’s hands tightened on the railing. Jonas swallowed his entire length, slowly, and it took all of Sonny’s willpower to keep from thrusting his hips forward. Every muscle in his body was tensed. The wooden railing was rough against his palms and hard against his lower back.

Jonas sucked, his mouth tightening almost painfully, and Sonny made an involuntary sound. Jonas’s hands moved from Sonny’s hips, one sliding up under his shirt and the other cupping his ass to hold him in place.

Sonny was already breathing raggedly. He wanted desperately to buck against Jonas’s mouth, wanted to lock his fingers into the reverend’s hair and hold his head in place so he could fuck his throat—

Jonas pulled back with a slurping sound, releasing him just moments before Sonny would’ve exploded in his mouth. The sheriff made a sound of frustration, shifting his hips forward before he could stop himself. He heard Jonas’s soft chuckle and, a second later, his hand encircled Sonny’s slobbery erection.

Jonas’s palm, flat against Sonny’s stomach, pushed him back against the railing while his other hand—not quite as tight as his mouth had been—began stroking up and down Sonny’s length. His movements were slow, infuriatingly, frustratingly slow, and Sonny clenched his jaw and tipped his head back as he tried desperately to control himself.

“You’re doing such a good job,” Jonas murmured in a low voice, and Sonny groaned. The reverend’s hand slid down along his hip, over his thigh, between his legs to cup Sonny’s heavy balls. “I can feel you getting fuller,” Jonas said. “But I want a lot. I haven’t eaten all day,” he added, and Sonny’s hips bucked—as much in response to his words as the feeling of his hands. “You think you can make enough to satisfy me?”

“Yes,” Sonny answered through gritted teeth. He was gripping the railing so tightly, his fingers had begun to tingle.

Jonas stopped stroking him and brushed the pad of his thumb across his tip. “Of course you can,” he said. He rubbed his palm, lightly, up the underside of Sonny’s cock. “I have faith in you.” He wrapped his fingers around it and gave two quick, hard jerks.

“Fuck,” Sonny gasped, arching into his hand. Jonas’s palm was once more flattened against his quivering stomach muscles, holding him back. “Jesus.”

“Jonas,” the reverend corrected, sounding amused.

“Jonas,” Sonny parroted obediently, scarcely able to form a coherent thought.

As his reward, he felt Jonas’s mouth around him again. Jonas suckled more gently, this time, his tongue massaging lazily, and Sonny could feel his orgasm building, could feel Jonas drawing it from him like milkshake through a straw, slowly but surely.

Jonas released him again.

Sonny made another sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan.

“Now, now,” Jonas admonished quietly. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Yeah, and lust is a sin,” Sonny ground out.

Jonas laughed. “I can absolve you, my little sinner.” He ran a finger up Sonny’s twitching length. “My big sinner,” he amended softly. “Are you ready to make Jonas happy?”

“Let me suck you,” Sonny blurted.

He heard Jonas’s intake of breath, and there was a pause before the reverend asked, “Would that make _you_ happy, Sonny?”

“God,” Sonny grunted as Jonas’s finger trailed along his cock. “Yes, it’s…all I want,” he admitted.

“ _All_ you want?” Jonas asked, running his finger back down.

“Yes. No. _Yes_ ,” Sonny gasped.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jonas said. “Show me what a lustful sinner you are. Empty yourself in my throat, and I’ll let you taste my appreciation.”

“If you keep talking I’ll empty myself on your face,” Sonny warned.

Jonas chuckled, and Sonny wished he could see his face. “Ahh, are you _that_ close, then?”

“Yes—No, I can wait.”

Jonas slid both of his hands around to Sonny’s ass, separating his cheeks with long, warm fingers, and tugged his hips forward a bit. Sonny leaned more of his weight against the railing, slipping his feet a bit further outward on the wooden deck.

“Don’t hold back,” Jonas said, a slight warning in his voice. “I want every last drop.”

Sonny made a strangled sound as Jonas’s mouth enveloped him. The reverend bit down gently and pulled back, dragging his teeth along the length before suckling—roughly, hard enough to make Sonny’s head drop backward and his back arch over the railing—at his tip.

“Oh, God—Now?” Sonny managed, sounding choked.

“Mmhmm,” Jonas said, and then he was moving his head, fast and rough, his mouth tight and hot and wet, and Sonny couldn’t have stopped himself if his life depended upon it. His body shuddered, and he let go of the railing, curving forward—he couldn’t help it—his hands going to Jonas’s shoulders as he came in his mouth. Jonas sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, holding Sonny’s ass with both hands, his hair tickling Sonny’s stomach as the sheriff held onto his shoulders.

As some semblance of thought returned to Sonny’s head, he was suddenly worried that Jonas, with his nose buried in Sonny’s pubic hair and his mouth and throat full of cock and cum, would suffocate, and he tried to shift his hips backward. Jonas held him in place, his hands tightening against Sonny’s ass as he continued to suck him dry.

Sonny moaned, his chin dropping down to his chest as he bucked against Jonas’s face. His fingers were digging into Jonas’s shoulders. Finally, when Sonny’s legs were about to give way beneath him, Jonas pulled his head back, releasing him to draw a deep breath.

Jonas put his hands on Sonny’s hips and pushed him back against the railing for support; Sonny’s legs were unsteady, his knees weak, and he leaned against the wood with relief. He looked down at Jonas. The reverend’s lips were glistening in the moonlight, his eyes shining. Sonny grabbed a handful of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

“Did you get enough?” Sonny asked, and his voice sounded as unsteady as his legs felt.

“Enough to give you your reward,” Jonas answered, his voice silky. He leaned forward, holding Sonny’s gaze in the moonlight, and said, softly, “If you still want it.”

“You worried I can’t take it?” Sonny asked, tipping his head as he smiled and tugged up his pants. He tucked himself inside and pulled up his zipper.

Jonas lifted a hand to Sonny’s throat, pressing lightly with his thumb while Sonny swallowed. “First your virgin ass, and now your virgin throat?” Jonas murmured. “Do you want me to be gentle, Sheriff?”

“No,” Sonny said, and he meant it. He put his hands on Jonas’s shoulders and pushed off the railing, steering the reverend backward until he was pressed against the wall of the water tower. “No, I want you to do what you want.”

“Do what I want?” Jonas murmured, running a finger down Sonny’s chest.

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, but this is supposed to be _your_ reward,” Jonas said, and Sonny could make out his smirk in the shadows.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“I want to…taste you…”

“Yes?”

“Alright,” Sonny said, reaching down and taking Jonas’s erection in his hand. “You want me to say it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Fine,” he said, but he hesitated. He tightened his hand. “I want…to be the reason—To make you—” He stopped again. It wasn’t just about making Jonas lose control—Sonny had already done that. He leaned closer, still holding Jonas’s cock in his hand. “I want you to remember my mouth,” he said, in a low voice, and he felt Jonas twitch against his palm. “In a few days you’ll be in a new town, or on your way to one, and you’ll have men and women lining up at your door. But when they’re on their knees, I want you to think of my face. When they’re sucking the cum out of you, I want you to remember my tongue. When you’re fucking them, I want you to wish it was me. So, no. I don’t want you to take it easy on me. I want you to do whatever you need to do to make sure you never forget.”

Jonas was quiet for several moments. Finally, he reached down and took hold of Sonny’s wrist, gently pulling his hand away. “No touching unless I say so,” he said, his soft voice barely distinguishable from the breeze. He put his hand on Sonny’s head, sliding his fingers into the sheriff’s hair, and Sonny sank to his knees at the hint of pressure.

Sonny started to lift his hands, then remembered his instructions and placed his palms on his own thighs, instead. Jonas pushed his pants down and returned his fingers to Sonny’s hair, pulling his head forward. Sonny opened his mouth. He’d asked for this; he wanted it, and yet there was a nervous flutter in his stomach.

Jonas moved his hand to Sonny’s chin, tipping his head up a bit, and used his other hand to guide himself into the sheriff’s mouth. He moved slowly, keeping his fingers on Sonny’s chin. Sonny looked up at him; Jonas’s face was in shadows, but the moonlight shone in his eyes.

He filled Sonny’s mouth but stopped just short of making him gag. Sonny breathed through his nose, trying to prepare himself. He liked the musky taste that he knew was unique to Jonas. He liked the weight on his tongue. He liked the sensation of being on the verge of gagging. He liked knowing that he was the reason for Jonas’s hardness.

He wanted to give Jonas the same pleasure that Jonas had given _him_ , and he tightened his mouth. He tried to move his head forward, to take more into his mouth, but Jonas’s fingers were firm on his chin, stopping him.

“Hand,” the reverend said, softly, holding out one of his own. Sonny lifted an arm without hesitation, and Jonas took his hand, guiding it between his legs. He gently molded Sonny’s palm under his balls and used his own fingertips to press Sonny’s into position. “Right there,” he murmured. “Good boy.”

He left Sonny’s hand in place and slid his own fingers into the sheriff’s hair; his other hand was still at Sonny’s chin, keeping his face angled upward. Sonny’s heart was thudding in his chest. Jonas’s balls were hot and heavy in his hand, and he prodded gently where he’d been instructed.

His muscles were tensed as he braced himself. Jonas didn’t thrust into his throat, though. He held Sonny’s head in place and moved slowly, withdrawing and then pushing forward, always stopping just before Sonny’s gag reflex was triggered.

At first, Sonny was confused—and a little annoyed, thinking that Jonas was taking it easy on him, after all. But he could hear Jonas’s quiet, uneven breathing, and Sonny suddenly realized that Jonas wasn’t holding back; _this_ was the way he wanted it, slow and gentle, and Sonny felt himself relaxing. His insecurities slipped away, because this was something that he could do, something that he could give to Jonas.

“Sonny,” Jonas said, his voice a sigh on the wind. “Do you want—” He broke off with a soft gasp when Sonny drew his tongue along the underside of his erection and moved his fingers, pressing them into Jonas’s testicles, even though he kept the pressure light. “Alright, then,” Jonas said. He ran his fingers from Sonny’s chin, along his jaw, and slid his palm up to cup the sheriff’s cheek. His other hand tightened in Sonny’s hair, holding his head in place. Sonny wasn’t going to move, anyway, now that he’d figured out what Jonas wanted from him.

Jonas made a sound in his throat, and his fingertips pressed against Sonny’s scalp, but he didn’t thrust. His penis shuddered between the sheriff’s tongue and palate, and then Sonny’s mouth was filled with thick, salty ejaculate. He swallowed without thinking about it, and Jonas did shift his hips forward, then—an involuntary movement—and Sonny swallowed again.

Still holding Sonny’s head in his hands, Jonas drew backward, freeing himself. Sonny let his hand fall away from between the reverend’s legs. After a few seconds, Jonas released Sonny’s hair and reached down to pull up his pants.

Sonny slowly rose to his feet.

Jonas regarded him, silently, in the moonlight. He stepped forward, grabbed the back of Sonny’s head, and kissed him. He plunged his tongue into Sonny’s mouth, surely tasting his own cum. He broke away quickly, though.

He patted a hand against Sonny’s chest. “Remember you, Sonny?” he said, quietly. “That was never in question.”

He moved past him, and Sonny stood, his heart racing, unable to think of anything to say. He didn’t turn as he heard the creak of the ladder, didn’t look back as he heard the unmistakable sounds of Jonas descending the rungs. He stood, staring at the dark water tower, trying to sort through the emotions swirling within him.

He could still taste Jonas, and feel him on his tongue. He could still hear his uneven breaths and soft grunts. Sonny thought that it might just be possible—possible—that he’d given Jonas something that no one had, before. And, as he stood alone on the water tower, Sonny found himself smiling at the thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot more emotion/angst and a lot less smut. I felt compelled to follow this story through. But, this is not the end for Jonas and Sonny, and I expect some...fun interactions in the future.

“I’ve got some information on your sheriff.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jonas answered, turning toward his sister.

“You _need_ to—”

“No, Sam. I told you, he’s off-limits.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but this is something you need to know. About his family.”

“Family? Do you hear yourself? The man is sheriff, if we mention his family he’ll throw us out of town—if we’re lucky. If not, you can say goodbye to your big brother for five to—”

“Would you listen to me? For _once_?” she asked.

“No, Sam—They’re not a part of the show.”

“Well _she_ can’t be, because even _you_ can’t fake a return from the grave.”

Jonas had begun to turn away, and he stopped, looking at his sister. “What…”

“Oh, you’re interested?” She wasn’t intimidated by the look he gave her. “He had a wife, Jonas. She died two years ago, car crash. Now he lives with his—”

“Stop,” he said, and the harshness in his voice surprised her into silence. Glaring at her, he repeated, “He’s off-limits.” His stomach was squirming uneasily, and he didn’t want to examine the feeling too closely.

“I told you we couldn’t make money off these people!” she suddenly exclaimed, unable to contain her frustration. “I don’t work miracles, Jonas, remember? You have to let me do my job.”

“You do your job, then,” he said. “There’s a whole town to pick apart.” Her lips parted. He knew he’d hurt her, and he hesitated as he started to turn away. “I always listen to you, Sam,” he said. “But you have to trust me. We’ll make it work, we always do. There’s another way.”

“Whatever you say, Jonas,” she answered, and he sighed. “No, really, I’m sure it’ll all just magically work out.”

A retort rose to his lips, but he bit it back. With a single, sad nod, he left her standing alone.

 

*       *       *

 

“Jonas.”

“Sheriff,” Jonas answered, looking up as the other man approached. “What can I do for you?”

Sonny eyed him for a few moments in silence. Jonas was sitting at a picnic table—sitting on the bench with his back against the edge of the table and his legs stretched before him—with his silver flask glinting in the morning sun.

“A little early for drinking,” Sonny finally remarked. Jonas could see the caution in the sheriff’s expression, but no judgement.

And he looked for judgement.

“You’re not in your uniform,” Jonas said, gesturing toward Sonny’s jeans. The sheriff was wearing a blue t-shirt that matched his eyes, and Jonas took a long swallow from his flask. “Do you need something?” he asked after Sonny watched him drink.

“What’s wrong?” Sonny asked.

Jonas laughed, but the sound held little amusement. He gestured toward the blue sky, already bright and cloudless. “It’s a beautiful day,” he said. “And apparently it’s your day off?”

“I work, just later,” Sonny answered quietly. His forehead was creased.

“Well,” Jonas said, rising suddenly, and smoothly, to his feet. “You should be off enjoying your morning.” He started away, taking another swig from his flask, but Sonny’s voice stopped him.

“Did I do something to…upset you?” he asked. The last time he’d seen Jonas had been on the water tower the night before.

Jonas turned, and his expression was tight. “No,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m…Why didn’t you tell me about your wife?”

Sonny blinked in surprise. “My wife?” he asked. “What…”

“You’re not wearing a ring,” Jonas said.

Sonny regarded him for a few moments before lifting a hand. He used a finger to hook the chain around his neck, and he pulled it up until two rings appeared above the collar of his t-shirt. He tucked the rings back inside his shirt without comment.

“You weren’t wearing that when you came to my room,” Jonas said.

“I took it off before I knocked on your door,” Sonny admitted. He’d never expected to say so out loud.

Jonas stared at him. “Why?” he finally asked.

Sonny sighed. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Because part of me knew exactly what I wanted to happen. From the moment I saw you stepping off that bus, I knew what I wanted, I just didn’t want to admit it. When I introduced myself and you looked me up and down and I almost came in my pants right there on Main Street?”

Jonas was surprised into a laugh, but his expression grew serious in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry about your wife, Sonny,” he said.

Sonny nodded. Jonas could see the pain in the sheriff’s blue eyes, and he stepped forward, automatically. Sonny held up a hand and looked around, and Jonas stopped. He felt like he’d been slapped, and he tried not to let it show. He raised his flask to his lips and swallowed the burning liquor, but it wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry,” Sonny said, seeing the look that Jonas had tried to hide.

Jonas shook his head and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I know, you can’t be seen with me.”

Sonny grabbed his arm before he could turn away. “It’s not _you_ ,” he said. “I’m the sheriff, Jonas, I can’t be seen…fraternizing with you, not when you’re here to get money from people.”

Jonas pulled his arm away from Sonny’s hand. “I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not about _you_ ,” Sonny emphasized. “The real you. If we could just—”

“This _is_ the real me,” Jonas said, spreading his arms and grinning.

“I don’t believe you,” Sonny answered. His voice was quiet.

Jonas lost his grin in an instant. “Well, that’s the problem with conmen, Sonny,” he said. “You never know what’s true.” He turned and walked away, and Sonny didn’t try to stop him.

 

*       *       *

 

Jonas hesitated near the fence along the edge of the baseball diamond, watching as the group of boys approached the kid in the wheelchair. The kid had a portable keyboard set across the armrests of his chair, and he seemed to be poking at random keys. Certainly, there was no melody that Jonas could hear.

The reverend waited with a twinge of nervousness as the other boys approached. He expected, at the very least, a few cruel or mocking words. He didn’t want to have to intervene, but he would if things got out of hand.

“Hey, Jake,” one of the boys said, and the kid in the wheelchair looked up. When he saw the other boys, he smiled, and Jonas felt a touch of relief.

“Hi,” Jake said.

“Wanna go to Dairy Barn with us?”

“No, thanks,” Jake answered, still smiling. “Tell Mr. Vasser I said hi!”

“Sure thing.” One of the boys patted Jake on the shoulder as they passed by. “See ya ‘round, Jake’n’bake.”

Jonas snorted, amused by the nickname.

“Have a great day!” Jake said, turning his attention back to his keyboard.

Jonas found himself walking onto the field without really knowing why. Simple curiosity, perhaps—but there was something about the kid that intrigued him. Maybe it was the boy’s cheerfulness, or his desire to sit alone in the field with his keyboard rather than accompany his peers for ice cream.

“You know how to play that thing?” Jonas asked.

The boy looked up. “Some,” he answered. “Just a few things. Not like you, I’m sure, Mr. Nightingale.”

Jonas was startled, and he hesitated.

Jake smiled. “Everyone’s talking about you,” he said.

“Call me Jonas.”

“I’m Jake,” the boy answered. “I had a dream you were coming.”

Jonas felt a wiggle of unease at that. _Don’t ask me to heal you, kid_ , he thought. “Bless you,” he murmured, automatically.

“Can I come to your show tonight?”

“That’s up to your parents,” Jonas said. _Don’t ask, don’t ask me to do it, kid, I would if I could…_

“I mean, can I come if I don’t have any money? Just to watch?”

“Of course you can.” Jonas said. “I’ll save you a spot up front.”

Jake smiled. “Will you play me something?” he asked, pointing at the keyboard.

“What makes you think I can play?”

Still smiling, the boy held up the keyboard. “Please?” he asked.

Jonas gestured with his hand, and Jake lowered the keyboard back onto the chair. “Here, I’ll teach you one from the show. Tonight when you hear it, you’ll know just how to play it. Repeat after me.” He played a few notes and watched while the boy copied them. “Very good,” he said. “Let’s add. How good’s your memory?”

Jake laughed. “Pretty good,” he said. “Try me.”

Jonas laughed, too. “Alright, watch this.”

Jake chewed his lip as he focused on Jonas’s fingers moving across the keys. When it was his turn, he hesitated, seeming to replay the notes in his mind before beginning. He played a pretty close approximation, with only a few missed notes, and Jonas was impressed.

“You’re a natural, kid,” he said. “Do you have a piano at home?”

“No,” Jake answered. “Just this. I was thinking about playing and singing in the talent show but I can’t really sing.”

“Everyone can sing,” Jonas said.

“Not everyone,” Jake answered. “Some people can’t even talk. Or hear.”

Jonas straightened and looked down at him. He took a step backward and held up his hands, making sure Jake was watching. He began “Moon River” in sign language, and saw the boy’s eyes widen in surprise.

They were both silent for almost two minutes while Jonas performed the song, and then Jonas paused, held up a finger to keep Jake from speaking, and signed part of another song. When he finished and dropped his arms to his sides, he repeated, “Everyone can sing. You just have to find someone who knows how to listen.”

“What songs were those?” Jake asked.

“‘Moon River’ and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’” Jonas said, grinning when Jake laughed. “You could see the difference. You could _feel_ the difference, yes?”

Jake nodded. “You can feel the _music_ ,” he said, sounding excited. “Even when there isn’t any!”

“Music isn’t just something you hear with your ears, Jake. Dancing isn’t just something you do with your legs. Seeing isn’t only done with your eyes. You get my point?” When the boy nodded, Jonas said, “Music is like…magic.”

“Magic,” Jake repeated, appearing startled.

“It’s all around,” Jonas said, with a gesture of his hand. “Can you hear the crickets? Can you feel the sun on your skin? Smell the honeysuckle? See the blue above us? The sky isn’t _really_ blue, is it, Jake? It’s just an illusion. But we believe it. We write sonnets about it. We made the sky blue, and now it’s part of our _music_. Everything around us. Even Helen Keller could feel it, the moment she understood that what her teacher was giving her was a way to communicate with the world, the moment she understood that the touch in the palm of her hand meant _water_.” He shrugged, and added, “Or at least, I hope she felt it. The connection to the world. Music is life, Jake, and life is magic. It has no power unless you believe it does.”

“Like miracles?”

Jonas hesitated. “What’s a miracle?” he finally asked. “Life. Love. Pain. Happiness. Grief. They all have their own melodies, don’t they? Even death.”

He saw something flicker across the boy’s expression, something the kid tried to hide. “Is death a part of music?” he asked, quietly. “Is death a _miracle_?”

“You have to draw your own conclusions, kid,” Jonas answered. “Here.” He lowered himself onto the grass beside the wheelchair and reached for the keyboard. Jake handed it over without comment. Jonas paused for a moment, with the keyboard in his lap, gathering his thoughts. “This is Rachmaninoff,” he said. And then he started to play.

After a couple of minutes, he looked up at Jake and saw the emotion glistening in the boy’s eyes. Jonas stopped playing. He waited, knowing that Jake had something to say.

“My mother died,” the kid said.

Jonas could see the guilt on Jake’s face, a guilt as plain as day. The kid felt responsible for his mother’s death. Jonas didn’t know the details, and he didn’t need to. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

Jake looked at him, surprised. He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jonas said. “Will you do me a favor tonight? When you’re home, look up Yiruma’s ‘River Flows in You.’ Close your eyes and listen to it. Let yourself feel the melody. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “‘River Flows in You.’”

“Yiruma,” Jonas said. He spelled it aloud. “And this is one of my favorite songs. ‘Canon in D,’ by Pachelbel.” As he placed his fingers over the keys to begin, Jake spoke.

“Mr. Nightingale?”

“Jonas.”

“Do you believe in destiny, or…fate? That God has a plan for each of us?”

“What matters is whether or not you believe that,” Jonas answered. “Remember what I said about music?”

“It has no power unless we believe it does,” Jake said.

Jonas smiled. “Exactly, my boy. Now, do you want to hear one of my favorite songs or not?”

Jake laughed, sniffing, and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Pachelbel,” Jonas repeated, turning his attention to the keyboard. “Close your eyes and listen. Feel the magic of the world around you, Jake.”

 

*       *       *

 

Sonny approached slowly. Jonas was sitting cross-legged on the dry grass, the keyboard across his knees. He was playing “Für Elise,” and perfectly. Sonny was struck by the beauty of it—not just the song, but _all_ of it: Jonas’s effortless playing; his expression, a look of peace that Sonny hadn’t seen before; the smile on Jake’s face.

Jonas lifted his head, and for a moment—just a moment—he looked happy to see Sonny. And then he remembered, and wiped the expression from his face. Sonny watched it happen, and he was sorry that things couldn’t be different.

“I want you to head on home, Jake,” he said, quietly.

“But Dad, I—”

“Jake,” Sonny said. He didn’t raise his voice. “Please listen to me.”

The boy sighed and reached down for his keyboard. Jonas handed it over, but Sonny could tell from his expression that he’d been thrown for a loop. He hadn’t known that Sonny was Jake’s father. Two days ago, Sonny would’ve doubted the surprise on Jonas’s face, would’ve wondered if it were part of some con. Now, however, he thought he understood who Jonas was, and what he was.

Jake was sliding the keyboard into its case, and he looked down at Jonas. “Thanks, Mr. Nightingale,” he said.

“I told you to call me Jonas,” the man said, once more composing his features.

“I’ll remember how to play that song when I hear it tonight.”

“I know you will,” Jonas said, managing a smile.

“Tonight?” Sonny asked.

“At the revival,” Jake said as he slung the bag over the back of his chair. “He showed me how to play one of the—”

“You won’t be at the revival,” Sonny said. He hated the disappointment settling into his son’s expression, but he had to protect the boy from being hurt again.

“Dad, I wanna watch!”

“We’ll talk later. I’ll see you at home, Jake.”

Sonny watched his son’s jaw clench, and knew he hadn’t heard the last of Jake’s arguments. The kid was stubborn, but he didn’t argue in front of Jonas. Instead, he turned his chair and wheeled himself away without another word.

Sonny reached down a hand. He wasn’t sure if Jonas would take it, but when he did, Sonny pulled him to his feet and they stood looking at each other. Sonny hadn’t released his hand. “I don’t want you hanging around my son,” he said, quietly.

“I didn’t even know you had a kid,” Jonas answered. He hesitated, and Sonny could see the pieces clicking together in the other man’s mind. “The accident—he was with his mother, wasn’t he? Your wife?”

“He doesn’t need someone like you coming into his life—”

Jonas yanked his hand away. He smiled. “Someone like me?”

Sonny grimaced. “Someone promising miracles that’ll never happen. His grandmother took him to some faith healer. You know what he told my son?”

It was Jonas’s turn to wince. “I can imagine,” he muttered.

“Maybe the doctors don’t know why Jake can’t walk, but that doesn’t mean it’s _his fault_.”

“Of course not,” Jonas said. “I would never say that to him.”

Sonny sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I know that,” he said. “Or at least I want to believe it. But I have to protect Jake, no matter what. He’s always talking about these dreams he has, and signs, and how he’ll know when God wants him to be able to walk. Well, he might never walk. And he can’t spend his life looking for signs…”

“You said yourself that sometimes false hope is better than no hope.”

“Not for my son.”

“Not for him? Or not for you?” Jonas asked.

“Don’t try to _read_ me, Jonas, we’re past that, aren’t we?”

“I can read you like an open book,” Jonas shot back. “Look, I get it. You need to look out for your kid. If I had a kid, I wouldn’t want him around someone like me, either. But you might want to talk to him. He thinks the accident was his fault.”

“He said that?” Sonny asked, as a cold ball settled into his stomach.

“He didn’t have to say it,” Jonas said. “Maybe part of his problem is guilt, I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But he seems like a good kid. Smart, funny, kind. I wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.” He started to turn and hesitated. “Oh, and get the kid a real piano. He’s a natural and he deserves music in his life.”

Sonny grabbed Jonas’s wrist, and their eyes met. “I wish things were different,” Sonny said, quietly.

Jonas drew a deep, shaky breath, and stepped back. His eyes were bright in the sunlight. “Don’t waste your time wishing,” he said. “You deserve something real, both you and your son. Don’t settle for less.”

“You keep walking away from me,” Sonny said behind him, barely audible, as Jonas started across the field.

_And you keep letting me_ , Jonas thought. “It’s what I do,” he said without looking back.

 

*       *       *

 

“Who’s the guy who’s been snooping around?”

“What guy?” Sam asked without looking up.

“The old guy who looks…soft and professor-ish.”

She lifted her head. “He’s not old,” she said, without thinking. Jonas smirked and saw her clench her jaw.

“Just soft and professor-ish?” he teased. “Maybe he should do something about the gray, then,” he said, pinching at his own hair near his temple.

“He _is_ a professor, he’s got a doctorate in new American religions. He’s writing a book about revivals. And not everyone has a love affair with vanity,” she said, and Jonas laughed. “Besides, he’s only six years older than you.”

Jonas tipped his head. “By my calculations, that makes him eight years older than _you_ ,” he told her. “I’m tempted to ask how you know, since it seems unlikely you’d come right out and ask…” He narrowed his eyes, regarding her, and saw the flush staining her cheeks. “You Googled him, didn’t you?”

She crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. “It’s my job to dig up information on people,” she said, sounding defensive.

“Oh, so you found something we can use? Great, we’ll make a believer out of him.”

“No,” she said, harsher than she’d intended, and Jonas smiled again. It was gentle, this time, though. Seeing her discomfort made him sad. She shouldn’t be embarrassed about _liking_ someone, shouldn’t be ashamed of having feelings. She’d worked hard to build the walls around her heart, but Jonas knew her. No matter how tough she pretended to be, he knew how soft her heart was. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “He won’t cause problems. If I have to, I’ll keep him distracted until we leave town. He won’t follow us, he’s got a hundred other revivals to visit.”

“If you have to,” Jonas said, softly. He knew that she didn’t want his pity, but she deserved to be happy. “Sam,” he said, with a sigh. “You’re allowed to—”

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do,” she cut in. “I get along fine, thanks.”

“Right,” Jonas said. “God forbid you actually care about someone.”

“You’re one to talk!” she exclaimed, but they both knew that caring about people had never been his problem. His father had always said he was too sensitive, and Jonas supposed that was probably true. He’d often wished he could turn his feelings off. Alcohol could dull, but not entirely erase, them.

He used his empathy to manipulate people. He knew how to convince a widow to hand over her wedding ring, and he knew how to make her smile while doing so. He knew how to seduce a person and make them feel loved for a night. And he knew how to find a person’s weakness, how to cut them down to size with just a few words.

The sharpness of Sam’s tongue could rival his, but Sam was a better person than he was. That had always been true. He’d loved her the moment she was born; she’d represented innocence, goodness, and he’d known, even then, that she deserved to be protected. He also knew that he’d done a poor job.

Jonas loved performing. He got his high not from the dollars landing in the baskets, but the smiles on people’s faces. Their money kept him fed, but their cheers were what nurtured him. Jonas was the most alive when he was on a stage, and he took no pleasure from fooling people. When he convinced a man to quit smoking, it didn’t matter if it was really God’s will or not. What mattered to Jonas was that he’d impacted someone’s life, that he’d left a mark. Jonas wanted desperately to be loved, to be appreciated. To be respected.

This was not something that he would admit aloud. He could barely admit it to himself. Sam knew him, and she knew the feeling. It was something they shared, a remnant of their childhood. They’d spent their formative years searching in vain for the love of a parent. They’d craved affection and acceptance, and they’d turned to each other. She’d been his best friend, and he would’ve done anything for her.

Every punch from their father had left more than a physical mark. Every cruel word had added an invisible scar. She’d been the only one who ever saw the real wounds, the only one who understood. He’d done his best to protect her, but he knew that she’d spent her life trying to protect him, too. The guilt of that knowledge was not insignificant for Jonas.

He felt things deeply, and Sam had trained herself to keep her own feelings buried. She’d made herself into an emotional shield for him, the way he’d once been a physical shield for her. It had been the two of them against the world for as long as they could remember, and they didn’t know any other way of life.

They often argued. In fact, there were few things on which they’d ever seen eye to eye. But Jonas would never betray her. He knew that she loved him, even when she wanted to strangle him. He also knew that she deserved more than being stuck with her brother for the rest of her life.

Sam, she deserved the kind of all-in love—breakfast in bed, celebrating half-year anniversaries, flowers on Wednesdays, cuddling in the early morning light, affectionate nicknames, kisses both passionate and tender, holding hands on the sidewalk, shared showers, shoulders to cry on, private jokes, gazes filled with adoration—that she secretly craved. The years on the road were slowly eating away at her.

They were eating away at him, too. Each performance gave him joy, but the rest of the life was wearing on him. No matter whose bed he was in, he always fell asleep feeling alone.

The highs were no longer outweighing the lows.

He couldn’t stand to watch her destroying herself.

He wanted to set her free, and didn’t know if he could. He didn’t know who he was without her and the show, and it had been a long time since he’d been brave enough to look his reflection in the eyes. She would be better off without him. She could build a different life for herself, a better life. She would never admit that, though. She would never leave willingly. He would have to drive her away, and that would hurt her. He wasn’t sure he could do it.

“Look, I’m not some helpless little girl anymore,” she said. He could see her struggling against tears.

“You were never helpless,” he answered quietly.

“So you don’t have to worry about me,” she said. “What you need to worry about is the show. We need to use the kid.”

“No,” he answered, thinking of Jake’s innocent, trusting face.

“No? _No?_ I’m telling you, we don’t have a choice, not if you want to get out of this godforsaken town.” When he was silent, she narrowed her eyes. “You do want to get out of here, right?”

“Of course,” he answered, but he wasn’t sure if he believed himself. He didn’t know what he wanted. He knew he’d been thinking about things he had no business imagining; dangerous thoughts that terrified him. Sweetwater had awakened feelings that he didn’t want to acknowledge. _Not just the town_ , he thought, his mind immediately turning to the sheriff. “But he’s the sheriff’s kid, and…Jake’s been through enough,” he said.

“Oh, really? The world is cruel, Jonas, you know that. The sooner the kid learns that—”

“He knows about the cruelty of the world, Sam,” Jonas interrupted. “The one thing he has left is hope— _faith_. I won’t take that from him.”

“Everyone in town says it’s psychosomatic,” she said. “There’s no reason for him not to walk, no medical reason. It’s in his head, Jonas. All you have to do is convince him that God wants him to walk, and—”

“No,” he repeated, his tone harsh.

“He believes in you. He _will_ believe in you.”

“Yeah,” Jonas said, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Yeah, Sam.” He could hear the rawness in his voice, and it alarmed him. “And what if it’s _not_ all in his head, huh? He doesn’t need someone like me coming in and—”

“Is this because you’re sleeping with his father? You’ve done miracles on kids before.”

“This is different and you know it.”

“Everyone in town loves the kid. You can’t give them rain, Jonas, but you can give them something they want just as much. They’d each give their last penny to get that kid on his feet, you can see it in their faces when they look at him, when they talk about him. If you’re looking for a change, we can change. We can figure something out, but we have to get—”

“Sam.” He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. He felt like he was losing his grip on himself, a grip that had always been tentative at best. “I love you, sis,” he said, quietly. “But I can’t discuss this right now.”

Before she could say anything, he turned on his heel and strode away. It seemed to be his day for walking away.

 

*       *       *

 

“It’s Jackson, right?”

The professor turned. “Jonas Nightingale, at last,” he said, extending a hand. Jonas looked him over while shaking his hand. “Did Sam tell you I wanted to ask a few questions?”

“No,” Jonas answered. “Actually, I came to talk about her.”

“Your sister?” Jackson said, and Jonas saw the wariness settle into the other man’s expression.

“You seem to have spent most of the day with her,” Jonas said. “Are you trying to screw her?”

Jackson blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“First of all, vulgarity aside, I—” He stopped, raising his hands when Jonas stepped closer.

Jonas poked him in the chest, and said, “She’s had enough assholes in her life. If you hurt her, I’ll bring hellfire raining down on your head, professor.”

“I appreciate your attempt to look out for your sister, here—Could you back up, please? Thanks,” Jackson said, smoothing the front of his shirt when Jonas took a step back. “I have no intention of hurting her, and I only met her this morning.”

“It only takes a few minutes,” Jonas said.

“Not for me, it doesn’t,” Jackson answered.

Jonas laughed, pointing at him. “ _Touché_. So. Jackson. What’s everyone been saying about me behind my back? Come on, don’t make me buy the book.”

“So far as I can tell, everyone loves you,” Jackson said, and Jonas did his best to hide the rush of guilt he felt. “They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

“Hey,” Jonas said, spreading his arms. “What’s not to love?”

“I met you forty-five seconds ago.”

“Well, I like _you_ , doc,” Jonas said. “You’re an honest guy, I can tell. I’ll bet you’ve never told a lie in your life. Don’t let Sam scare you off.”

“I’m not—there’s nothing going on between—”

“Careful, now, don’t make this your first lie,” Jonas said. He pulled his flask from his back pocket and unscrewed the lid. He held the flask toward Jackson, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” Jackson said. “Thank you.”

Jonas smiled as he took a drink. Replacing the lid, he shook his head. “So polite, too. Ask me some questions, professor. I love to talk about myself.”

“Alright. Why do you do what you do?”

“Do what I do?” Jonas asked. “You mean the Lord’s work?”

“If that’s what you believe, then yes,” Jackson answered.

Jonas narrowed his eyes. “I think we both know the answer,” he said, all traces of humor gone from his expression. “We rip people off. No— _I_ rip people off. I use their secrets against them, I manipulate them, I give them false hope, and I take their money. And then I never see them again.” He shrugged, spreading his arms again, the flask glinting in one hand. “Do they go back to drinking? Cheating? Hitting their wives? Who knows. I get my money and I leave.”

“People ask for help…not hitting their wives?” Jackson asked, looking ill.

Jonas felt a stab of pain, as always, when he thought of all the bruised faces. “Oh, doc, you wouldn’t believe what sins people confess,” he said, softly. “They want God to cure them. So I put my hand on their forehead and I promise them absolution if they change their ways. And what promise does the bruised and battered young woman beside them get? What assurance does she have that the beatings will stop? Nothing but the word of a conman. We can phone in an anonymous tip—” He stopped, licking his lips as he gathered his thoughts. He shook his head and looked at Jackson. “What kind of man needs someone like me to tell him not to hit his wife? Not to fuck around on her? Not to hit his kids—” He pulled in a deep breath. “You’re an educated man, right, professor? Me, I never graduated high school, so maybe I just don’t get it.”

“There are a lot of terrible people in the world,” Jackson said. “But there’re good people, too. I have to believe that the good outnumber the bad.”

“And what absolution does a man deserve after hitting his wife and kids?”

Jackson swallowed. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he said.

“What kind of redemption is there for a man who offers false hope—” He stopped again. He opened his flask and drank the last of his liquor. He shook the empty bottle. “I need a refill,” he said.

“When you look into the face of a child with a black eye, and you see yourself,” Jackson said, “what do you do? You can tell me that you offer absolution to the father and take your money and leave, but I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you because of your sister, and Ida Mae, and Ornella, and every person I’ve talked to about you. I think what you do is tell the man that God will give him the strength to be better, you tell him that he has the power to change and be forgiven, and you take his money. And then? You get that money into his wife’s hand along with the phone number of someone who can help her. And then you whisper into that kid’s ear, and you tell him that God is on _his_ side, not his father’s, and that he will survive the hell in which he’s currently trapped and he will _thrive_ in the world, and there will come a day when his father can no longer touch him.”

Jonas opened his mouth but couldn’t find any words to speak.

“Is that false hope? Maybe. I don’t know,” Jackson said. “Maybe sometimes yes, sometimes no. Maybe they get away. Maybe they don’t. Nobody can save everyone, but false hope is still _hope_ , and sometimes that’s all we have to get us through the day. Hope for tomorrow. You want to know what people say behind your back?” Jackson bobbed his head, raising his eyebrows, and said, “They say a lot, Mr. Nightingale.”

He turned and walked away, and Jonas stared after him, stunned into speechlessness. _At least I didn’t have to walk away this time_ , he thought. He lifted his flask to his lips, remembered it was empty, and swore quietly.

 

*       *       *

 

As Jonas stood, looking himself over in the mirror, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last show. It wasn’t the first time he’d considered such a thing. In fact, any night could conceivably be the last. He could be arrested. The van could break down permanently. He could be struck by lightning. Or he could just find the strength to walk away.

_This isn’t the last_ , he thought. _You have to do one more, Jonas. One more to get Sam and the Angels out of this town. One big show tomorrow night._

He dragged his eyes up to those of his reflection. _And then what?_

He didn’t know. It might be too late to save himself, but he could still save his sister.

And maybe a few others, too.

He turned his back on the mirror, adjusting his jacket. It was hot, and he could already feel the sweat running down his back, but that didn’t matter. His stomach was a churning pot of acid because he hadn’t eaten and had filled himself first with alcohol, then coffee, and finally water. That didn’t matter, either.

It was showtime.

For over two hours, he was in top form, and he barely looked at the kid—Jake—where he sat near the corner of the stage. And he didn’t look at the sheriff, who was on the other side of the audience, standing alone, a single time during the performance.

He sang. He danced. He smiled. He flirted.

He was kind, compassionate. He was witty, funny.

He went in every direction Sam pointed him, without hesitation, and even Sam, who’d seen his act more times than she could count, was impressed by the advice he was doling out. He was the best he’d been in years, and he could feel it. He could feel it in the exhilaration coursing through his veins, and in the cheers from the audience, and in the smiles of those he touched.

As the revival barreled toward its conclusion, however, he could feel a desperation growing within him. He wanted to stretch every moment, make it last forever. He didn’t want to look over at the kid and see the hope, the _faith_ shining in his wide eyes. He didn’t want to look at Sonny and imagine all the things he couldn’t have, the things he didn’t deserve to _want_. He didn’t want to look at Sam and see the concern in her eyes.

But Jonas couldn’t control time, and he had to bring the show to a close.

He rushed backstage, but somehow the kid caught up to him.

“I should get myself some wheels,” Jonas muttered, glancing at him as he stripped off his jacket. “I see you convinced your dad to let you come.”

“I convinced him not to stop me,” Jake said with a shrug. “Can I talk to you?”

Jonas glanced around. “Bad idea, kid,” he said. “Your father doesn’t want me around you.”

“I was listening, Jonas,” the boy said.

Jonas, who’d been pacing, trying to rid himself of his residual, nervous energy, stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I heard you. It was just like in my dream.”

Jonas’s stomach clenched. “Jake,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna make it rain.”

“What?”

“Your miracle tomorrow night,” Jake said. “You’ll make it rain, won’t you?”

The kid wasn’t asking for Jonas to heal him, to make him walk. He was asking for rain for the whole town, the whole county.

Jonas walked over and dropped into a crouch beside the wheelchair. He swiped sweat from his forehead and met Jake’s hopeful gaze. “I can’t do that,” he said, quietly.

Jake wasn’t deterred. “I believe in you,” he said. “You were just like in my dream, Jonas. It was a sign. You came here—”

“No, Jake,” Jonas said, rougher than he’d intended. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, putting his hand on the boy’s arm. “I can’t bring the rain and I can’t make you walk. I’m sorry.”

He started to rise, and Jake’s voice stopped him: “I can’t walk until I make up for what I did.”

Jonas sank back down. “What do you mean?” he asked, looking at Jake’s face.

The boy swallowed and blinked the tears out of his eyes. “God won’t heal me until I earn it,” he said.

“If this is about what some asshole faith healer told you—” Jonas started, but Jake shook his head, sending the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I know it,” Jake said. “It’s my fault my mom died, and my dad is so…sad all the time. He’s all alone now, and it’s my fault. I was playing around and that’s why she crashed.”

“Jake, listen to me,” Jonas said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “It is _not_ your fault. You don’t have anything to prove, nothing to make up for, do you understand? Sometimes…bad things just happen, to good people. It isn’t fair, but it isn’t your fault.”

“I prayed for you to come,” Jake told him, swiping at his tears. “For the town, for my dad. You can save us, Jonas, I know you can. You just have to try.”

_For my dad_ , Jonas thought, feeling pained. “I can’t save the town, Jake,” he said. “I can’t save your father, and I can’t save you. I’m sorry.” He pushed to his feet and saw Sonny standing a few yards away. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. _Here I go again_ , he thought as he walked away. Jake called his name, and Jonas ignored him.

 

*       *       *

 

Sonny stood for a minute, looking at his son. Jake was sleeping peacefully, finally. He’d been upset when they got home. Of course, Sonny had never wanted him to go to the revival in the first place, but he’d eventually relented in spite of his misgivings. Jake didn’t ask for much, and seeing Jonas perform had been important to him. Sonny had hoped he’d see through the reverend and realize that he wasn’t really a miracle-worker.

He should’ve known better. Jonas was incredibly convincing, onstage and off.

_I handcuffed him and had sex with him on his first night in town_ , Sonny thought. _He got exactly what he wanted from me with just a few words and a smirk. How can I fault anyone else for falling for his cons?_

It was more than a con, though, and Sonny knew it. He didn’t want to admit it, because it would be easier to simply paint Jonas as a criminal and a liar and write him off. It would be easier to think of their encounters as nothing more than sex with someone Sonny would never see again after Monday. It would be easier to ignore the presence of any emotional connection.

But Sonny couldn’t go back to the person he’d been a few days ago, and he wouldn’t if he could. He had to be honest with himself.

Yes, Jake had been upset when they’d gotten home. He’d asked for help into bed early, and he’d been listening to music ever since. The same song, over and over on a loop, something on piano. Sonny wasn’t big on classical music, but there was something comforting about the song. At first, Sonny had been pacing the house in agitation, frustrated that Jake didn’t want to talk to him about what he was feeling, angry with Jonas for coming into town and disrupting their lives, angry with himself for allowing it to happen. Eventually, however, the music had begun to soothe him, and he’d found himself sitting at the kitchen table, reminiscing.

He wondered what his wife would say if she could see him, see his behavior over the past couple of days. As he sat at the table, letting the piano chords flow through them as they echoed through the house, he remembered the life they’d shared, the family they’d created. He remembered the laughter, the love; the arguments, the worry.

Sonny knew that it wasn’t his relationship— _relationship?_ his mind echoed in disbelief—with Jonas that would worry her. It was the two years since her death, the years that he’d spent burying his feelings and devoting his life to Jake in an attempt to ignore his own pain. The hundreds of lonely nights spent staring at the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep.

He walked over to Jake’s iPod and stopped the music, plunging the house into near-silence. Jake didn’t stir; Sonny could hear his soft, even breathing, and he sighed. He remembered how it had felt to hold his son in his arms for the first time, how exhilarating and terrifying and monumental the moment had been. He’d never known that such levels of love could exist.

Jonas might be a fraud in a lot of ways, but one thing was true: within minutes of meeting Jake, he’d known a song that could comfort the boy and ease him into sleep. He’d given him something that Sonny couldn’t deny.

The sheriff checked the phone beside the bed, making sure it was charged in case he needed to leave and Jake woke needing help. Then he quietly slipped from the room, pulling the door almost closed.

Jonas Nightingale had come into Sonny’s life with a cocky smirk and a sexy swagger, and he’d thrown Sonny’s life into turmoil. But no one was responsible for Sonny’s actions but _Sonny_ , and he couldn’t bring himself to regret a moment he’d spent with Jonas. In spite of everything, Sonny wanted him, still. Just one last time before the man rolled out of town.

 

*       *       *

 

“Evening, Sheriff.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Little bit,” Jonas said.

Sonny had himself planted in the opening, blocking the door with his foot as he peered out at Jonas. He hadn’t turned on the porch light, and the glow from behind him was dim, cast from some distant room. The sheriff was in sweat pants and a t-shirt; it was late.

“I know I can’t come in,” Jonas said. “You have a kid, and…you’re a good father. I can see that. I just wanted you to know.”

“I’m lucky to have him,” Sonny answered. After a pause, he said, “He fell asleep listening to some song, some piano thing. He had it on a loop. I had to shut it off when he fell asleep. It…means something to him. He doesn’t want to talk to me about it.”

Jonas tipped his head back, looking up at the moon. After a moment, he closed his eyes, swaying a bit. “When I was a kid, I used to pray to the moon,” he said, his voice barely audible above the soft sigh of wind.

“What did you pray for?”

“Escape, I suppose. Or maybe that my father would love me the way you love your son.” He lowered his chin to look at Sonny. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be here. It was too quiet in my room,” he heard himself admit.

“You could find any number of people to keep you company, Jonas,” Sonny said, quietly.

Jonas held his eyes in the dim light. “I don’t want anyone else,” he said. “I tried to get you out of my head. I tried to stay away. I just wanted to see you.”

“Jonas…”

“I’m tired,” Jonas said.

“I’m sure you are,” Sonny answered.

“No, I mean I’m _tired_ ,” Jonas muttered.

“I know what you mean,” Sonny said, and Jonas knew that was true. Sonny had a weariness about him; Jonas had recognized it from the start. Now, he understood why.

“I had no right to suggest you were doing anything wrong with Jake. You’re a good father,” he repeated.

“You were right,” Sonny countered in a low voice. “He just met you and he told you things he’s never told me.”

Jonas made a face and waved his hand in the air. “Comes with the job,” he muttered.

“Have you eaten today?”

Jonas blinked in surprise. He considered saying something suggestive, crude, and dismissed the idea. “I don’t remember,” he admitted.

Sonny stepped back and pushed the door open. “Come inside.”

Jonas stared at him, unable to sort through the tangle of emotions swirling in his body.

“Come on, I’ll make some coffee. I’ll give you a ride back to your room after you sober up.”

“I don’t want to sober up.”

“Can’t have you wandering around,” Sonny said. “I’ll have to arrest you for public intoxication or something.”

Jonas arched an eyebrow. “In Sweetwater?”

Sonny shrugged a shoulder. “I wasn’t always a small-town cop, remember.”

“You could try handcuffing me again,” Jonas said, with a close approximation of his usual smirk.

“I’m inviting you into my house, Jonas,” Sonny answered. Then, to Jonas’s surprise, he smiled and added, “Besides, we already established you don’t like doing the same thing twice.” He shifted to the side, waiting, and after a few moments of indecision, Jonas stepped past him into the house.

 

*       *       *

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Jonas said.

Sonny didn’t look back as he used a spatula to flip the omelet. “I like cooking,” he said. “Always have. Maybe it’s an Italian thing, maybe it was just necessity. I used to cook for my sisters.”

“It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Sonny agreed. Jonas was sitting at the kitchen table behind him. “It is that.”

“You came back here because of Jake, didn’t you? Because of what happened…”

“We’d always talked about moving back here,” Sonny answered, quietly, stirring the potatoes with the spatula. “Me and my wife. Bringing Jake back here, away from the noise of the city. He always loved coming here for holidays, summer vacations. We kept putting it off.”

“You were a cop there?”

“So was she. She was fearless. I worried about so many things, and it was the one I never saw coming. It was just a few miles from here. They’d just left to head home—back to the city. I was working. I know what Jake told you, that he’d distracted her, and maybe that’s true, maybe she didn’t see the truck coming, but you know what? I hope that’s true. I hope she never saw it coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonas said. He could hear the pain in Sonny’s voice, could feel it coming off him in waves. He wanted to take it away and knew he couldn’t.

Sonny turned to face him, leaning against the counter beside the stove. His blue eyes were shining. “Jake was in surgery for hours. They gave him a good prognosis. I know what people think, Jonas, but it’s not just some choice he’s made.”

“At least not consciously,” Jonas said, quietly.

“He wants to walk.”

“He doesn’t want to be a burden.”

“He’s not a burden. He’s my son,” Sonny said. He spoke fiercely, but kept his voice low.

“I know that. He feels guilty for not being able to walk, for you having to take care of him. He feels like he’s letting everyone down, everyone who prays for him, encourages him, wants the best for him. If it were an easy thing for him to get up and walk, Sonny, he’d do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Sonny swallowed and nodded, unable to speak.

Jonas leaned back in his chair and sighed, scrubbing his hands over his stubbly face. “I never should’ve come here,” he murmured.

“I didn’t have to let you in.”

“I don’t just mean _here_ ,” Jonas said, indicating the kitchen with a flick of his wrist.

“Neither do I,” Sonny answered. “Jonas, I know everyone in this town, but tonight I learned things about them that even I didn’t know. I heard them admit things, in front of their friends and neighbors and cousins—”

“That’s the game, Sheriff,” Jonas said, raising his eyebrows at him. “We collect secrets and we—”

“I know you’ve been hurt,” Sonny said. “I can see through you, Jonas. Do you wanna know what I think is your biggest con? You’ve convinced yourself that you’re unworthy of love and happiness.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve done,” Jonas muttered.

“I have an idea,” Sonny answered. “And I don’t care. If it were just me…”

Jonas dropped his gaze to the table. “It’s just sex, Sheriff,” he said. “No need to get emotional.”

Sonny turned toward the stove and shut off the burners. He transferred the omelet, and then fried potatoes, onto a plate. “Sex is an emotional thing,” he said.

“Is it?”

“I’ve always thought so,” Sonny said, sliding the plate onto the table. He went to the refrigerator and filled a glass with orange juice.

“Maybe I’ve been doing it wrong,” Jonas said.

“Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places,” Sonny answered as he closed the refrigerator door.

“For?”

Sonny looked at him with a humorless twist of his lips. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said. He set the orange juice beside Jonas’s plate and sank into the chair across from him, leaning back.

“You’re not going to eat anything?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

Jonas looked at the food, and his stomach rumbled. It had become difficult to distinguish hunger from the hollow ache in his gut. He poked at the potatoes with his fork. “You know how it feels to think you’re swimming along fine and then, I don’t know, something makes you look around, and all of a sudden you realize that you’ve just been treading water. And as soon as you realize that, you become aware of how tired you really are, how hard you’ve been going for so long, and for nothing. You’ve been drowning, but so slowly that you barely noticed.” He raised his eyes to Sonny’s. “You know that feeling?” he asked.

Sonny nodded. “Yeah, I know it,” he answered. “But in my experience there’s usually someone nearby willing to throw a lifeline. Eat, Jonas. You look like hell.”

“You have salt and pepper somewhere?”

Sonny smiled. “Don’t you dare insult my cooking,” he said. “It’s seasoned the way it’s supposed to be seasoned.”

Jonas forked potatoes into his mouth and chewed. After a moment, he nodded. “It’s good,” he said, and Sonny laughed. “Seriously.”

“I know it’s good,” Sonny said, with a sparkle of humor in his eyes. “But your opinion doesn’t count since you’re practically starved.”

Jonas ate in silence for a minute, and Sonny watched him. “Do you miss the city?” Jonas finally asked. “When you’re painting over graffiti on the water tower, do you miss the excitement of…you know.”

“Real police work?” Sonny asked with a smile.

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“Taking rapists, murderers, drug dealers off the street, yeah, I loved that. Like I was making a difference, you know? Making the world a safer place for my family, for your family, for everyone. But it never ends. It gets exhausting. It’d started to wear on me, on us, on everything. There’s always another fight. Sometimes I miss the excitement, the…rush. The exhilaration, you know? But that’s not a healthy thing to chase, I suppose. At least not to build a life around. Because it’ll never be enough. The adrenaline always fades and then the _normal_ bits can start to feel like _lows_.” He sighed. “I’d rather have contentment. Maybe that seems like settling, I don’t know. All I know is it’s a lot more…peaceful.”

“Are happiness and contentment mutually exclusive?” Jonas asked. _Peaceful_ , he thought. It sounded nice, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to be content. He didn’t think he’d ever felt contentment, or if he would recognize it.

“No,” Sonny answered. “It’s just about not chasing…artificial happiness anymore. Realizing what’s real and important and…what we can control. We can’t change the shitty things that happen, all we can do is hold onto what we have.” He shrugged. “Like you and your sister, I guess. I know I’d do anything for mine, even when they drive me up the wall.”

Jonas ate the last of his omelet and set his fork on the plate. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “I should get out of here,” he said. “Thanks for the food.”

Sonny also stood. He watched as Jonas picked up his glass and drank the last of his juice. “I’ll give you a ride back to your room,” he said, rounding the table.

Jonas smiled. “You don’t have to do that, Sheriff,” he said. “I’m unfortunately sober.” He started to turn away and hesitated, looking back. “You should keep Jake away from the last show,” he said. “People will come from all over the county. They always do. Come Monday morning, we’ll be out of here.”

“Like you promised,” Sonny said.

“I told you, I keep my promises,” Jonas answered.

Sonny stepped forward and kissed him. He took hold of Jonas’s hips and turned him, steering him backward until he was against the counter. Jonas let Sonny kiss him, but he kept his hands at his sides. He was afraid that if he held onto the sheriff, he would never want to let go.

Sonny pulled his mouth from Jonas’s and rested his forehead against the other man’s, breathing deeply, eyes closed. “I wanted you the moment I saw you, and I hated you for it. I didn’t even recognize myself when I walked into your room. I wanted to punish you for making me _feel_ , and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Jonas murmured.

Sonny pulled back to look at him. “No one can punish us as much as we punish ourselves,” he said. He searched Jonas’s face for a few seconds. “You woke something inside of me, and I thank you for it.” He dropped his hands and stepped away. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. I’m just gonna leave Jake a note in case he wakes up.”

 

*       *       *

 

Sonny was on his back, knees bent, hips levered up. He had a hand on Jonas’s arm and the other fisted into the sheet. He was looking up at Jonas, and their eyes held as Jonas slowly entered him, watching the sheriff’s face for any signs of discomfort.

Jonas sank into him fully and stopped. Sonny’s hand tightened on his arm and he shifted his hips, trying to pull Jonas impossibly deeper. Jonas didn’t move as he studied Sonny’s face, though. He said, in a soft voice, “People rarely surprise me, Sonny. But you, I never saw coming.”

Sonny slid his hand up Jonas’s arm, over his shoulder, cupping the back of his neck to pull his head down. Jonas leaned forward, and Sonny lifted his head to kiss him. As their mouths met, Jonas flexed his hips, swallowing Sonny’s groan.

Jonas wanted to stretch the moment forever, but he knew what _Sonny_ wanted. So, he started moving, slowly at first, keeping his mouth on Sonny’s. He slid a hand over Sonny’s stomach and took the sheriff’s erection in his hand, gripping it loosely. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip of Sonny’s cock, and Sonny broke away from his mouth to tilt his head back into the pillow. He arched his back, breathing raggedly.

Jonas moved his own hips faster, filling and withdrawing; he watched Sonny’s face, and knew that he was close. He stopped moving, buried in Sonny’s ass, and released his cock. Sonny looked up at him, his lips parted, his pupils wide with desire. He shifted his head on the pillow, letting out a shaky breath.

“What do you want, Sonny?” Jonas asked softly.

“You know what I want.”

“Yeah,” Jonas answered, smiling. “But I wanna hear you say it.”

“I want to come with you inside me,” Sonny said. The unspoken words— _one last time_ —hung in the air between them as their eyes held. Jonas moved his hips back, watching Sonny’s eyelids droop. Jonas shifted his knees, bracing his hands on the bed on each side of Sonny’s hips. One of Sonny’s hands was holding Jonas’s shoulder.

Jonas flexed his hips forward and pulled back quickly, stopping again. After a few moments, he repeated the movement. Sonny bit back a moan, catching his lip with his teeth as his fingertips dug into the muscle of Jonas’s shoulder.

Jonas looked down and saw that the tip of Sonny’s erection was glistening with precum. He returned his gaze to Sonny’s. “Not yet,” he said, and Sonny shook his head on the pillow. Jonas thrust forward, and Sonny’s eyes closed. “You’ll wait, won’t you, Sonny?” Jonas asked as he pulled back. Sonny nodded. “What?”

The sheriff opened his eyes. “Yes,” he said.

“Good boy,” Jonas murmured, and he saw Sonny’s throat bob. Jonas thrust his hips again, but this time he didn’t pause when he withdrew. He kept moving—hard and fast, watching Sonny’s face. “Not yet,” he murmured again. Sonny’s hand fell from Jonas’s shoulder and he clutched at the bedspread.

Jonas didn’t slow until he saw Sonny’s expression tightening, until he knew the sheriff wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. His precum was smeared on his stomach, now, and Jonas stilled his hips, half-sheathed. He lifted a hand, once more rubbing his thumb over the now-slick head of Sonny’s penis. He lifted his hand to his own mouth, making sure Sonny watched him suck the pre-ejaculate from the pad of his thumb.

Sonny made a sound close to a whimper.

Jonas was holding his own climax at bay by a sheer force of will. He wanted to savor the feeling—the feeling of being buried inside of Sonny—for as long as possible. That sound, though, almost pushed him over the edge. Sonny’s absolute _need_ for release, and his determination to wait—his willingness to torture himself—were more than Jonas could bear.

He took Sonny’s cock in his hand. “So hard,” he said, softly. “So _ready_ , aren’t you?” He slid his fist up and down the length, slowly. Sonny shifted against Jonas’s hand, and it was Jonas’s turn to suppress a groan. “God, if only you knew how good you feel,” he muttered. “I want to feel you tightening around me…” He gave Sonny’s erection another lazy stroke and flexed his own hips. Sonny gasped at the combination; he was overstimulated almost to his breaking point.

Jonas started a slow rhythm, sliding in and out of Sonny, his movements unhurried in spite of his own growing desperation for release. He stroked Sonny’s cock in time with the beat of his hips, and Sonny was trembling.

“Jonas,” Sonny managed, his voice raw.

“Come for me now, Sonny,” Jonas answered. Sonny moaned, his back arching, his fists clutching at the bedspread, his head pressed into the pillow. “Say my name again.”

“Oh, God— _Jonas_ ,” he gasped, as a tremor wracked his body. A few seconds later, his semen spurted onto his stomach, and he made another involuntary sound as Jonas continued to stroke him, slowly.

As Sonny’s muscles clenched around Jonas, he started to withdraw. The stimulation was incredible, and too much. He couldn’t control himself any longer, and had to get out before—

“Don’t,” Sonny said, reaching between his own knees to clutch at Jonas’s hips. “Come inside me, Jonas.”

“Sonny,” Jonas breathed, looking down at the other man’s face. A moment later, his hips bucked, and he spilled his seed deep inside of Sonny. He bent his head down and Sonny levered himself up for a kiss, but Jonas hesitated. Searching Sonny’s eyes, he said, barely above a whisper, “You’re the only one.” He couldn’t explain what he meant, but he didn’t have to. Jonas had never come inside of anyone without a condom, and then only rarely. It wasn’t even primarily an issue of practicing safe sex, as Jonas tended more often than not toward self-destructive tendencies.

No, what it boiled down to was a combination of intimacy and metaphorical self-flagellation. Jonas had never allowed himself real and complete release; nor had he ever allowed any _real_ connection to form. It was always an act—an act that was enjoyable for both parties but never quite _satisfying_ for Jonas.

Until Sonny. He’d gotten under Jonas’s skin from the start. He’d found his way inside Jonas’s walls without even trying, and Jonas wasn’t even sure how it had happened. All he knew for sure was that he would never be the same.

He couldn’t say those things, not when he was buried inside of Sonny, not when he was feeling more emotionally vulnerable than ever before, not when his breaths were still ragged.

Not when this was the last time he and Sonny would be joined together.

But Sonny knew. He could read it all in Jonas’s eyes, and he grabbed Jonas’s dark hair, crushing their lips together in a kiss that was almost painful.

_You woke something inside of me_ , Jonas thought, closing his eyes as Sonny kissed him, etching every sensation—every point of contact—into his memory.

 

*       *       *

 

“Jonas,” Sonny said. He was standing in the doorway of Jonas’s room, dressed once more in his sweats and t-shirt. “Or should I call you Jack Newton?”

Jonas offered a small smile, because they both knew they were far past that. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he said, quietly.

Sonny nodded. “A man has a right to leave his father’s name behind if that’s what he chooses,” he said. “Jonas Nightingale is a good name. There’s something you should know, Jonas. Your sister’s been spreading word that there’ll be a miracle tonight. She’s been begging favors all over town—”

“We don’t beg,” Jonas said.

Sonny raised a hand. “An expression,” he said. “She owes the garage for the repairs to the bus. I know you haven’t paid for these rooms. She’s borrowed equipment all over town—”

“What’s your point? If you arrest anyone, it’ll be me. Everything is on me.”

Sonny shook his head. “That’s just it, Jonas. She does everything to protect you. I’m guessing you haven’t looked at your finances lately? Your singers—your Angels—haven’t been paid in months. They all love and believe in you, Jonas. They follow you without question, they perform without knowing when they’ll see a paycheck. And your sister, it’s her name on everything. Her _real_ name. I have no doubt she’d go to prison for you.

“Next time you look in the mirror, you should try seeing what everyone else sees. What your sister sees. What my _son_ sees, what the whole town sees.” He paused. “What I see. I understand why she wants to protect you, and why she’s promoting. She’s desperate. But if you try to fake a miracle tonight—”

“Keep your son away,” Jonas said, quietly. “No matter what happens, he shouldn’t be there.”

“I’ll arrest you if I have to.”

“I know.”

“I hope you don’t give me reason to.”

Jonas searched Sonny’s face, memorizing every line, every angle, every freckle. They would see each other again; at the very least, Jonas knew that Sonny would be at the final show.

Nevertheless, this was their goodbye, and they both knew it.

“Whatever you do will be the right thing,” Jonas said, quietly. “I have faith in you, Sheriff, and nothing will change that.”

“And what will you do?” Sonny asked after a few seconds of silence.

Jonas let out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Do me a favor, Sonny. When it comes time for the talent show, tell Jake to remember what I said. Don’t let him hide any bits of himself away, alright?” When Sonny nodded, Jonas reached out a hand and patted his chest, briefly, over the sheriff’s heart. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, Sonny,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

He stepped back into the room and closed the door before he could change his mind.

 

*       *       *

 

“Is it true that Ida Mae and the Angels haven’t been paid in months?”

“Jonas, I—”

“Is it true, Sam?”

“I told you I was worried,” she said. “But you didn’t want to listen.”

Jonas nodded. She expected him to argue, to point out the fact that she’d never told him just how bad their financial situation had gotten, but he didn’t. “I know,” he said instead. “And I’m sorry. You’ve been carrying a weight that wasn’t yours. But that ends now.”

He could see the apprehension in her face. “What are you saying?” she asked.

“You’ve been running the show for years, Sam. And all I’ve done is make your job harder. But—”

“No, Jonas,” she said, grabbing his arm. “You’re wrong. You _are_ the show. You’re the one people come to see, you’re the one who’s kept everything together. Kept _us_ together. You saved us, over and over again, and I started to take it for granted that you—that you always do whatever it takes. You always come through for us, for the Angels, for the show. I took it for granted and I’ve let you give up too—no, I’ve _asked_ you for too much, and you never say no.”

He smiled. “I say no to you all the time, sis, you just don’t listen.”

“ _No_ ,” she stressed, squeezing his arm. “You drag your feet and complain and put up token resistance and then you _do it_ , you do _everything_ , you chip off pieces of yourself and fling them to the crowd and the rest of us? We just tag along, living off your sacrifice.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No, you’re not giving yourself enough,” she countered. “Jonas, you think you sold your soul. But you didn’t. I sold it, or at least brokered the deal. This isn’t the person I want to be,” she said, spreading her arms. “I tried to force you to convince a kid that you could heal him and I tried to convince my _self_ that it was justifiable because it was for the greater good. That the possible trauma to an already traumatized kid was an…acceptable risk. And you balked. And I…I would’ve done it anyway. I would’ve forced you into it because that’s what I do, isn’t it? I let you do all the feeling, all the caring, and I just…take care of business. I met somebody I actually liked and I didn’t even know what to do because it’s been so long.” She saw Jonas’s gaze shift toward Jackson, who was at the other end of the tent talking into his phone. “And something happened between you and the sheriff, something more than just sex, you can’t tell me otherwise. We deserve to be happy, Jonas.”

Jonas caught Ida Mae’s eye and motioned her over. When the older woman had joined them, Jonas put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “I want you to know that you—both of you, and the Angels—have been _my_ salvation, you two especially have kept me going through some dark times. Ida Mae, I will make it right, I give you my word.”

She patted his arm. “We never doubted you, my boy,” she said with a smile.

“I will take care of it,” he told Sam.

His sister shook her head. “Jonas, you’re not listening—”

“No, Sam, I _am_ listening,” he said, quietly. “I’m hearing you, I promise. You two have stuck with me, and I love you for it. I just need you to trust me a little bit longer.”

“Son, you know I’m with you to the end,” Ida Mae said. Jonas bent forward and kissed her cheek, giving her a hug. Then he looked at Sam.

“Promise me you’ll be okay, Jonas,” his sister said.

He smiled. “I promise. We’ll be okay,” he answered.

“I’ll do whatever you think is best,” Sam said after a few moments of silence.

 

*       *       *

 

Jonas stood in front of the mirror, studying himself. He’d spent most of the day going through the financial records, adding up their assets and tallying their debts. He’d been surprised to find that Sam had never sold their parents’ house. It was in his name—the name of Jack Newton—but he’d long ago given her complete control over his finances.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that Sonny had been right. All of the assets—the house, the bus, the truck, the equipment, everything they owned—was in his name. Sam, from a legal standpoint, owned nothing, and yet it was her signature on everything.

Jonas felt reasonably calm. The books weren’t nearly as discouraging as he’d feared, and he knew what he had to do. He’d spent the entire day sober, drinking nothing but water, and he’d even eaten breakfast and lunch.

He was about to disappoint, and probably anger, a lot of people, and he wasn’t happy about that. It was a necessary evil, though. They would be better off in the long run, he hoped. The tent was full. As predicted, people had come from all over the county, lured by the possibility of witnessing a miracle.

Jake was out there, too.

Jonas straightened his jacket and let out a breath. _Time to make things right_ , he thought. He turned and picked up his guitar, looping the strap over his shoulder. _Just give me the strength to give them what they need_.

 

*       *       *

 

When Jonas walked onto the stage with his guitar, a hush fell over the crowd. He could see a ripple of confusion pass through the audience, saw people exchanging glances. He caught Sonny’s gaze for just a moment before looking away. He met Jake’s eyes, up front near the stage. The boy offered Jonas a smile of encouragement, and in that moment, Jonas would have given up everything—his very life—to be able to help Jake. It wasn’t necessarily about him walking, either; all Jonas wanted was for Jake to find peace, to forgive himself and be happy. He deserved to be happy, and so did his father.

The Angels were on their marks, but they were silent. Jonas walked to the middle of the stage.

“Jonas?” Sam asked, softly, in his ear. He looked over at her and nodded. She was holding tightly to Jackson’s hand, though Jonas didn’t think she was aware of the fact.

Jonas faced the audience and started playing. He glanced at Jake and offered a small smile when he saw recognition dawning on the kid’s face. The last time he’d heard Jonas play the song, it had been on the keyboard. The boy had a good ear for music, and Jonas hoped it would serve him well in his life.

Jonas started pacing as he played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” on the guitar. The audience was silent, still not sure what to think. It wasn’t gospel music, and it wasn’t what they’d expected, but it was a song that had always soothed him. It was difficult to play on guitar, and he’d never performed it in front of anyone except for Jake the day before, but his fingers knew the chords by heart. Jonas walked the stage, scanning the audience, meeting their eyes, reading their desperation.

He transitioned from Pachelbel into “Rise Up,” and the Angels, led by Ida Mae, started singing a subdued version of the song. He walked back to his spot on the center of the stage.

“My name is Jonas Nightingale,” he said, his gaze skimming the faces. Some were familiar, the citizens of Sweetwater; others were new. “But that wasn’t always the case,” he continued, and another murmur passed through the audience. “Who here has read Romeo and Juliet?” he asked. He nodded as half the audience members raised their hands. “The nightingale didn’t bring good fortune, did it?” He smiled as a nervous titter of laughter rippled through the tent. He ran his fingers over the strings of his guitar, gathering his thoughts. “I chose the name because all I ever wanted to do was sing. My father was less than encouraging of that dream. But my sister, Sam,” he said, turning to look at her with a gesture of his chin, “she always believed in me. She told me once, when I was nine and she was seven, that God was going to send a whale to rescue us. She’d learned about Jonah in Sunday school—though she’d mixed up bits of it with Pinocchio, I think,” he added, winking at Sam as the audience laughed again.

Jonas looked at the crowd. “I was sitting in my closet with a broken arm and a bloody nose, gifts from our father, and I told my little sister that there was no such thing as God, and that no one was coming to rescue us. I looked her in the face, and I told her to grow up and to stop believing in fantasies. I was cruel, because I was hurt.” He paused, and the silence in the tent was tangible. “And my sister put her arms around me, and she said something that I will never forget.”

“Jonas,” Sam breathed in his earpiece.

“She said, ‘then you save me and I’ll save you.’ I dropped out of school to go to work after our parents died, determined to make sure she graduated even though she was a pain in the ass about it,” he said, and he heard his sister’s laugh. “So I was working, scraping pennies together wherever I could, and our local preacher asked me to sing at the church picnic. I didn’t get why he’d ask, I was a sullen little heathen who hadn’t stepped inside the church in years, but I wanted to sing. I memorized some gospel, and I memorized some scripture, and I got up there in front of all those patrons in their Sunday best, me in a ratty old suit of my father’s that was too big, and I put on a _show_ , by God. I was angry about it, at the start. And then something changed.

“People were smiling, and I started to suck up their energy like a sponge. Aside from Sam, I don’t think I’d ever made anyone happy in my life. Now, someone had put out a bucket for donations. The very idea of charity made my fists clench, but Sam told me it wasn’t charity. It was payment for my performance. She called me a _prophet for profit_.” He paused, cocking an eyebrow at the crowd. “Get it?” he asked, and he was answered with nods and some laughter. “Jonah, Jonas. Prophet,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “Nightingale. I think you can follow the logic of the boy I was.”

He paused again, running his fingers absentmindedly over the guitar strings.

He glanced over at Sam, and she knew what he wanted.

“D-three,” she said, quietly. “Dry well.”

Jonas looked at the third seat in the section marked _D_. He walked toward the edge of the stage and hopped down, swinging his guitar to his back. “When Sam was a senior in high school, our well went dry,” he told the young woman. “We didn’t have a drought to worry about like you folks, but we couldn’t afford even basic repairs on the house, let alone the thousands of dollars the well-driller quoted us. I was hauling water from the creek for bathwater, and we were boiling it to drink.

“And then one day Sam came running into the store where I was working to tell me that they were out at the house drilling. By the time I got there, it was too late to stop them, and I panicked, because I had no way to pay for the work. One of the workers tried to calm me down, and I punched him in the face. He was about twice my size and promptly knocked me on my ass—more out of surprise than anything else. He could’ve squashed me like a bug. Even so, I jumped up ready to fight.

“It was the preacher who grabbed me and pulled me back. He’d stopped by to tell me that the church had taken up a collection to pay for our well.” He saw the tears shimmering in the young woman’s eyes, and he put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you feel guilty about all the help that you’ve been getting from your friends and neighbors…”

“Florence,” Sam said.

“Florence, but ask yourself this: if your roles were reversed, would you hesitate to help?” She shook her head, and Jonas continued, “The rain will come, I promise you. You will get back on your feet. I know it feels hopeless. I used to lie on my bed, staring at my ceiling, my stomach full of knots and acid, unsure how I’d provide our next meal or pay the following month’s electric bill. But someone told me that when you feel like you’re drowning, there’s usually someone willing to throw you a lifeline if you look around. You just have to be willing to take it.” He straightened and caught Sonny’s gaze for a moment.

“A-fourteen,” Sam said. “Alcoholic.”

Jonas walked over to the man, who looked up at him with apprehension. “When I was nineteen, I stole a twelve-pack of Pabst from the gas station. It was easy. The attendant was in his seventies and more likely to fall asleep behind the counter than not. I used to steal cigarettes because there was no way I could afford to buy them.

“Anyway, I got hammered, and I was wandering around town, and someone offered me a ride. The preacher’s wife—the same preacher who’d let me perform at that picnic, who’d organized a fund for our well. His wife drove me onto a two-track a mile from my house, and we had sex in her car. I was so drunk that I barely remembered it in the morning, but I remembered enough.

“She was more than twice my age, but I knew that I was responsible. I’d made the choices that led to that road. And I couldn’t confess, because I wanted to protect her. I wanted to protect her husband. And I wanted to protect myself. So I just let it eat away at me, and I drank more and more until I got caught stealing a bottle of vodka from the station. I spent the night in jail, and it was the preacher who picked me up in the morning.

“He knew already. I don’t know if she’d told him or if he’d just guessed, but he knew. And do you know what he did? He forgave me. He told me that we don’t have to be defined by our poor choices, that there’s always time for redemption if we’re willing to work for it.

“I’ve found myself in ditches, in strangers’ beds, in jail, even passed out beneath a church pew. It always starts the same. I feel like I’m drowning, or suffocating, like there’s no way out of the hole I’m in and the sides are caving in on me, and all I want is to shut off my traitorous mind for a few minutes, just to get some relief. The bottle helps for a bit, doesn’t it? But it’s a false prophet, my brother, and you know as well as I do that it solves nothing.

“That preacher forgiving me didn’t solve anything, either. All that did was add to my guilt. Confessing our sins is the first step toward redemption—”

“Harold.”

“Harold, but the final step is forgiveness. Not from others, but from ourselves. We have to accept that our transgressions are a part of us, but they are not all that we are. The world can seem hopeless, but I promise you that the alcohol makes it worse. Things aren’t as bleak as they seem from the bottom of the bottle. Ask for help and you shall receive it.”

Jonas turned, adjusting his guitar. Sam said, “C-seven. Cheating on his wife. His name’s Scott.”

Jonas took a breath as he approached the man. “I won’t lie, Scott,” he said. “I’ve slept with married women, and men. I told myself it wasn’t that big a deal because they were clearly unhappy in their marriages. I tried not to think about their spouses, and how they would feel. I tried not to think of each and every one of them as that preacher. But they deserved better, and your beautiful wife here deserves better. You can change, Scott, and maybe she’ll forgive you. But you,” he said, turning to the young woman.

“Janie.”

“You deserve better, Janie,” he said. “Don’t settle for someone who doesn’t treat you with respect. Don’t settle for someone like me.”

“At least you weren’t married!” someone called out, and Jonas lifted his head, holding up a hand.

“No, I wasn’t married,” he said, “but I was still hurting people. Qualifications are dangerous, my friend, because we start to give ourselves permission to put our own desires ahead of everyone else’s.”

Sam gave him another seat, and Jonas turned in that direction.

For the next hour, he traveled through the crowd, confessing his sins, admitting his moments of weakness and despair. There were more and more heckles from the crowd as many of the people grew restless and irritable. This wasn’t what they’d come to see.

Jonas turned and walked onto the stage. He faced the crowd and waited while they grumbled amongst themselves. Finally, they began to quiet, their curiosity getting the best of them.

“I can’t offer you a miracle,” Jonas said, and there were a few angry shouts. Jonas paused. “I’m not even sure I believe in miracles,” he continued.

“You’re a fraud!” someone hollered.

“Yes,” Jonas agreed.

“No!” Jake shouted, and Jonas’s stomach clenched. The boy wheeled his chair forward and faced the crowd. “You’re not listening!” he told them. “He’s talking about life! Don’t you get it? Life is a miracle!”

Jonas looked up and saw, even from a distance, the emotion glistening in Sonny’s eyes.

“We’re all alive!” Jake said.

Jonas glanced upward at the sound of thunder outside. There’d been several short, dry thunderstorms since Jonas had been in Sweetwater, and no one seemed to pay any attention to this rumble. To Jonas, it sounded—it _felt_ —different, and he had a strange flutter in his stomach. _Please_ , he thought, turning his attention back to Jake.

“Jake,” he said, and the boy turned to look at him.

“You came to save us, Jonas,” Jake said.

Jonas shook his head. “No, son,” he answered. “They’re right, I’m a fraud. But it ends tonight.” He looked up at the crowd. “These Angels behind me have stuck with me when I didn’t deserve it. My sister has given up her own dreams so that I could stand on a stage each weekend. I’ve lied, robbed, cheated—Everyone here has sinned in some way, small or large, but you’re not alone. I’ve committed more sins than all of you. Tonight is about atonement. It’ll take me longer than one night to pay them back, but for the rest of you, you’ll notice the baskets at the ends of these aisles? That’s all the money that’s been collected from the citizens of Sweetwater. I trust you’ll take what you gave.

“As for those of you we owe money,” he said, nodding toward the garage owner seated in the front row, “you will be paid. Over the next week, I’ll be liquidating my assets to pay my debts. If you don’t want to wait, I have a title I’ll sign over—”

“Jonas,” Sam said. He looked over at her and offered a small smile.

“I only ever wanted to make people happy,” he said. “I wanted to sing, I wanted to make people smile, and I wanted to make my sister proud.” He looked at the crowd. “You have no reason to believe me, but I want you all to be happy. If I could, I would—”

“No,” Jake repeated, and Jonas looked down as the boy rolled himself over the nearest basket. “You came to save us, Jonas!” he repeated. “I believe in you, you just have to believe in yourself.” The boy shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of dollar bills and change, dropping the whole mess into the collection.

There was a loud clap of thunder, and Jonas saw people looking up at the tent.

“You said, music is life and life is magic and we just have to listen and believe. Well, I do,” Jake said.

“Jake,” Jonas said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He stepped toward the edge of the stage but stopped when Florence, the young woman with the dry well, got to her feet and walked to Jake’s side.

“I believe that everyone deserves a lifeline,” she said, dropping money into the basket. She ruffled Jake’s hair, and the boy smiled up at her, his relief evident. She looked up at Jonas. “And new beginnings,” she added.

One by one, people started rising and making their way to the baskets, dropping money into the collections. Jonas took a step backward, and then another, his heart pounding in his chest. He saw Sonny walking over to stand beside Jake.

Jonas could scarcely breathe. This hadn’t been part of his plan. He could hear the Angels murmuring behind him, and he could hear Sam talking—but he couldn’t make out her words over the roaring in his ears.

He saw people looking around at each other, and looking up, and he suddenly realized that it wasn’t the rush of blood in his ears that he was hearing. He watched as the crowd surged toward the exit. Sonny cast him a look, but Jonas could only stare at him in disbelief. The sheriff took hold of Jake’s chair and wheeled him into the crowd, calling to his deputies to make sure people stayed calm as they tried to get outside.

The Angels filed off the stage, also headed outside. Jonas looked over at Sam as she and Jackson walked onto the stage.

“Rain, Jonas,” she said, unnecessarily. “Come on.” She reached for his hand, but he stepped back, pulling his guitar strap over his head.

“You go,” he told her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Jonas—”

“I’ll be right out, I promise,” he said. He set his guitar on the stage and watched as Jackson, his hand at the small of Sam’s back, escorted her through the now-empty rows of chairs. Jonas tipped his head up, closing his eyes, and listened to the thrum of rain on the tent. He could hear voices outside, shouts and laughter. _Thank you for giving him this_ , he thought. _All of them, but especially Jake. Thank you_ , he thought. He lowered his head and went down the stairs, walking toward the crowd gathered outside the tent.

He stepped outside, and the crowd drew apart to let him pass. It was pouring, and Jonas’s clothes were instantly soaked.

Jonas looked over at Jake in the pale glow from the tent. The boy was sitting with his face tipped up, smiling into the rain. _If anyone did this, kid, it was you, not me_ , Jonas thought. He looked around at the townspeople; they were laughing, celebrating, hugging, dancing. Jonas looked at Sam. She and Jackson were staring at each other, and Sam had an expression that Jonas hadn’t seen on her face since she was a little girl. She looked _happy_.

Jonas looked at Ida Mae and her daughter, standing in their drenched robes with their arms around each other. He looked at the other Angels, and he thought, _I was unworthy of your loyalty_.

He looked at Sonny. The sheriff was talking to a deputy. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his clothes stuck to his body. He was beautiful, and he was everything that Jonas wanted. _No one can punish us as much as we punish ourselves_ , he thought. His gaze swung back to Jake, and Jonas knew what he had to do. He knew it might cost him everything. If he was wrong, he would have nothing left.

Worse, he would be hurting Jake, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

Jonas didn’t think he was wrong, though. He felt a sense of purpose flowing through his veins. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and walked over to the boy’s chair. Jake looked at him, still smiling, and Jonas lowered himself into a crouch.

“Jake,” he said. “It’s time.”

The boy’s smile faltered. His hair was plastered to his forehead; rain dripped from his face. He shook his head. His chin trembled. “I can’t,” he said.

“You’ve punished yourself long enough,” Jonas said. “Look at me, son. You were wrong, I wasn’t sent here for the rain, Jake. I was sent here for you. To tell you it’s time.”

Jake stared at him, and Jonas could feel the fear emanating from the boy. But he could see the faith in the kid’s eyes, too, could see the belief and _hope_.

“Jonas,” Sam said, and he looked up to see his sister standing beside him. She shook her head. “You don’t have to do this,” she told him.

“Yes,” he answered. His gaze cut toward Sonny, and his eyes met the sheriff’s. “I do.” He saw Sonny’s frown, saw his gaze shift to Jake’s face, and then he saw understanding dawning. Sonny started forward, but he was too far away to make it through the crowd in time. Jonas looked at Jake and said the boy’s name.

Jake swallowed, and gave a little nod. “Get me up, Jonas,” he said, quietly. All around them, people had begun to quiet and were turning toward the boy. Under the drumbeat of the rain, a hush spread through the crowd.

Jonas reached an arm behind Jake’s back, grabbing him under his arms. Sam was holding the chair; Jackson was beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Through the rain, Jonas heard Sonny call his name.

Jonas lifted Jake to his feet and held him up. The boy’s legs felt boneless beneath him, and Jonas supported all of his weight. _Please_ , he thought. _Take what you want from me, but give him this_. Jonas saw Sonny stop at the edge of the crowd, and Jonas closed his eyes against the reluctant hope shining in the sheriff’s gaze.

With his eyes closed, Jonas said, “You can do this, Jake. Have faith.” _Please,_ he thought again. _I don’t know if you’re up there or if you’re listening but don’t punish him. Take_ my _legs, if you want._

“Jonas,” Jake said, shifting in his grip. “Let me go.”

Jonas opened his eyes and realized that Jake was supporting his own weight. Jonas slowly released him, afraid to breathe. Jake looked at his father and stepped toward him. His knees started to buckle, and Sonny started forward, but Jonas and Jackson grabbed Jake’s arms before he could fall.

The boy straightened his legs and lifted his chin. “Let me go,” he repeated, and Jonas and Jackson exchanged a look through the wet darkness. They pulled their hands back, and Jake stepped forward, slowly. He paused, and then took another step. The grass was slick from the rain, but his footing held. He took another step, and then Sonny, unable to wait any longer, met him halfway and grabbed him in a hug, lifting his feet off the ground as he kissed his son’s neck.

Relief flooded Jonas, a relief so powerful it buckled his legs, and he sank to his knees on the ground, dropping his chin to his chest as he sent up a dozen silent words of gratitude. His eyes and throat and chest were burning. He felt a hand on his head and knew it was Sam’s. He drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes. His sister was standing beside him.

Sonny was standing in front of him. Jonas’s eyes slid up to his, and he swallowed. Sonny held out a hand, and Jonas took it automatically, letting the sheriff haul him to his feet.

Jonas wanted desperately to wrap his arms around the other man, to both give and receive comfort, but he couldn’t. They were surrounded by a hundred people, all staring at Jonas, and he pulled his hand from Sonny’s wet grasp.

“I need to go,” he said. He saw Sonny’s expression tighten, and he turned away, unable to trust his own willpower.

“Jonas,” Sonny said. He grabbed Jonas’s arm, pulling him back around. “No more walking away,” he said. He slid his hand into Jonas’s dripping hair and bent forward, kissing him. There were murmurs all around them, and Jonas didn’t care. He held the front of the sheriff’s shirt to steady himself, leaning into him, desperately needing the contact. He wrapped his arms around Sonny’s waist. Sonny pulled his head back to look at him. “You have things to take care of,” he said. “All I want is your word that you’ll come back when you’re done.”

Jonas searched his face in the rain, afraid to believe. “I promise,” he finally said, and Jake clapped him on the back, laughing.

 

*       *       *

 

Sonny saw the name on his phone and smiled. He muted the television and answered the phone without a word, holding it to his ear in silence.

“I want to see you,” a low voice said into his ear, and Sonny felt a shiver pass through him. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Sonny answered softly, still smiling. “Jake’s gone for the night. I miss you.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Jonas said.

“Promise?” Sonny asked.

“I promise,” Jonas answered. His voice was like a caress, and Sonny felt his body responding. He hadn’t seen Jonas in weeks, but Jonas would soon return to Sweetwater—and Sonny. For good. “I _need_ to see you,” Jonas said.

“You want a picture?” Sonny asked.

“ _Not…yet…_ ” Jonas answered, and he knew exactly what his voice was doing to Sonny’s body. “I want to see how much you miss me…”

“More and more by the second,” Sonny murmured, and Jonas’s soft chuckle made him close his eyes. “Do you want me to—”

“No, no,” Jonas interrupted softly. “Don’t touch…You don’t need to touch, do you, Sonny…?”

“No,” the sheriff said on a sigh.

“Are you thinking about how good it’s going to feel? To have my mouth around you again?”

Sonny groaned. “Yes,” he said, shifting his hips a bit to relieve the pressure on his growing erection.

“I hope so. For weeks I’ve been imagining how good you’re gonna taste, all that cum you’ve been storing up for me. You have been saving it for me, haven’t you, Sonny?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t spilled any on your sheets when you wake up from dreams of my cock in your—”

“Jesus, Jonas,” Sonny breathed, interrupting him.

“Uh-oh,” Jonas answered, and Sonny could hear the amusement in his voice. “Getting too close, are you?”

“If you want me to save it for you, you’d better stop talking,” Sonny said. Jonas’s laugh tickled his ear, and Sonny added, “Plus these jeans are too tight.” He shifted again, but that made it worse, and he bit his lip in an attempt to keep back his moan.

Jonas heard the soft sound, and his voice was silky and low: “ _Ohhh_ , my poor Sonny. I’ll show mercy if you’ll do me one favor.”

“Anything,” Sonny answered.

“Will you step outside and look up at the moon?”

The sheriff pushed to his feet with a wince, glancing down at the noticeable bulge straining against his fly. He hoped no one showed up while he was outside, staring at the sky with an erection. He smiled at the image of how ridiculous he would look to anyone who happened by.

“How’s that walk feel?” Jonas murmured.

“Tight,” Sonny answered, and Jonas chuckled again. “Are you gonna be looking at the moon, Jonas?”

“I’ll be looking,” the other man answered softly.

Sonny stepped out onto the porch, and his breath caught in his chest.

Jonas was standing in the yard, bathed in moonlight, phone to his ear and smile on his lips. With his heart thudding in his chest, Sonny walked to the top of the steps and stopped, half-afraid he was dreaming.

Jonas lowered his phone and slipped it into his pocket. After a moment, he pointed a finger at the sky. Sonny turned off his phone and pocketed it as he tipped his head back to look at the moon. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jonas moving toward him, and Sonny couldn’t keep his eyes heavenward. He lowered his gaze and watched Jonas sauntering toward him.

Between the cocky smirk and the arrogant swagger, it was all Sonny could do to keep from coming in his jeans. He’d never in his life known it was possible to want someone so badly, not until meeting Jonas. He stood, his heart pounding, his stomach squirming pleasantly, his erection throbbing—stood, waiting for Jonas to return to him as promised.

Jonas paused at the bottom of the steps, looking up at him in the moonlight. “I told you I’d be here soon,” he murmured, his voice almost lost in the night.

“Are you back to stay?” Sonny asked.

“I am,” Jonas answered. He climbed the steps slowly, holding Sonny’s gaze. “If you’ll have me,” he said.

Sonny swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I think you know the answer to that,” he answered.

Smiling, Jonas asked, “You gonna invite me in, then?”

“Are you a vampire?”

Jonas smirked. “It’s not blood I’ll be sucking out of you,” he murmured, and Sonny barely suppressed a groan. “But I can’t promise I won’t bite.” He glanced downward. Sonny’s erection was obvious, even in the pale light.

Sonny shivered. “I’ll fix you dinner,” he said. “You must be starving, and tired. You can take a hot shower, change into some clean clothes, eat.”

“The only thing I want to eat—”

“Jonas,” Sonny cut in, and the other man laughed. “There’s time for that later.”

“There’s time for the other stuff later,” Jonas murmured, gently palming the front of Sonny’s jeans. He considered. “Except for the shower. Will you shower with me, Sheriff?” he asked.

“Do I have to keep my hands to myself?”

Jonas grinned. “Nope.”

With a laugh, Sonny said, “Then yes.” He took Jonas’s hand and started toward the house, pulling him along.

“Will you give me a massage?” Jonas asked.

“Until you beg,” Sonny answered with a grin.

“Never,” Jonas said, and Sonny laughed. Jonas pulled him around, suddenly, and kissed him. When Sonny made a sound of desire, Jonas drew back, smirking. He pushed Sonny toward the house, swatting him on his backside. “I’ll beg if you want me to,” he said, following Sonny into the house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a companion piece that runs parallel to this chapter, centering on a relationship between Sam and...Jackson Neill. I know, don't try to fight me on it, I'm not listening. You don't have to read that one at all, they should hopefully stand independent of each other. If you want to read it, it's called [New Beginnings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14587716).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third chapter was long and plot-heavy as I felt compelled to finish a version of the Leap of Faith story arc, but this chapter returns to what the fic was in the beginning - sex without much plot ;)

“I missed you.”

Jonas ran a finger along the underside of Sonny’s erection, smiling. “I can tell.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sonny said. When Jonas cocked an eyebrow, Sonny amended: “Not _only_ what I mean.” He studied Jonas’s face in the swirl of steam as the hot water beat against Jonas’s back. “I wish I’d known you were coming,” the sheriff murmured, reaching up to trace a finger along the rough stubble on Jonas’s jaw. “I would’ve had something planned and ready for you.”

Jonas tipped his head, his smile widening. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sonny answered. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the steam, but his embarrassment was evident in the depth of his dimples. “Rose petals on the bed, maybe. Few bottles of chocolate sauce…”

Jonas laughed. He lifted his hands, trailing his fingers down Sonny’s sides until his palms settled onto the sheriff’s narrow hips. He tugged him a step closer, and their naked bodies were pressed together; Jonas was wet, Sonny was damp from the mist.

“Some other time,” Jonas said, so softly that his voice was nearly lost beneath the sound of the shower. “It’s not the taste of _chocolate_ I’ve been dreaming about for weeks.”

Sonny was helpless to stop the shiver that passed through his body, and he threaded his fingers into Jonas’s wet hair, tipping the reverend’s head back. Jonas stared at him, green gaze steady, pupils wide, and Sonny dipped his head to kiss him. Their tongues met, and for a moment Sonny refused Jonas access to his mouth, pushing back, and Jonas made a sound in his throat that was equal parts desire and amusement; his fingers dug into Sonny’s hips.

This was just a show, though, and Sonny acquiesced quickly. Jonas slowly and methodically explored his mouth, staking a claim that Sonny was more than willing to relinquish. Sonny turned him, pressing Jonas’s body against the wall so that the water was now hitting both of them, massaging their muscles and heating their skin. Sonny pushed a knee between Jonas’s thighs, and Jonas broke away from his kiss, tipping his head back against the wall.

“Sonny. I want you to fuck me.”

Sonny’s breath caught in his chest as they stared at each other. He searched Jonas’s face and swallowed. “Not in here,” he finally said.

“No,” the reverend agreed softly, although Sonny knew that Jonas didn’t really care about the logistics; the _where_ was Sonny’s choice.

 _I love you_ , Sonny thought, but he tucked the words away for the moment. He bent his head and kissed Jonas again, but this time Jonas drew Sonny’s tongue into his mouth. Sonny pressed closer, flattening Jonas against the wall; their skin was wet, slick. Sonny ran his hands over Jonas’s shoulders, down his arms and then up his sides, feeling the reverend’s muscles tighten at the light touch of his fingers. It would be easy to get carried away. Sonny wanted Jonas desperately, with every inch of himself, but he’d meant what he said: he’d missed him, and longed for the moment they would be reunited, and now he wanted to savor each second.

Sonny drew back, and Jonas stayed against the wall, watching him as Sonny grabbed the bar of soap from the shelf. The water continued to spray over and between them, and the steam was thick around them. Sonny worked the bar between his hands, building a lather, and Jonas shifted impatiently against the wall.

“You gonna wash away my sins?” he asked in a low voice.

Sonny met his eyes. “There’re no sins here,” he answered, just as quietly, and Jonas’s lips curved into a smile. “Don’t move.”

“Okay,” Jonas answered, watching Sonny’s face as the sheriff began spreading the soap over the reverend’s shoulders. Sonny slipped his hands—the bar of soap still clutched in one—down Jonas’s chest, circling his flat, hard nipples with slippery thumbs and smiling as Jonas’s lips parted in response. Sonny worked a lather into the dark curls of hair on the reverend’s chest and trailed his hands down, over the slight curve of Jonas’s stomach—his back was arched away from the wall as his body sought Sonny’s touch—and out to his hips.

The spray of water was rinsing away the suds as soon as Sonny could apply them, but Sonny took his time, trailing slick fingers over wet skin, savoring every inch of the other man’s body. He soaped Jonas’s erection slowly, relishing the heavy rise and fall of Jonas’s chest as he obediently kept himself against the wall.

Sonny put a hand on Jonas’s hip and met his eyes, urging him to turn, and Jonas obliged, shifting over and turning until his back was against the wall at the foot of the tub. Sonny stood before him; the water was now at his back, hitting only his calves, but as Sonny slowly sank to his knees the spray moved up his back until it was beating a gentle pattern against his shoulders. Sonny spread his palm over Jonas’s hip and slid it slowly around to his thigh, massaging the reverend’s tight muscles with slippery fingers.

Sonny watched his own hand disappear between Jonas’s legs, and he ran his soapy fingers up the crack of Jonas’s ass, his knuckles pressed against the linoleum wall. Jonas’s erection was directly before Sonny’s face, and he bent his head forward. Jonas reached down, catching his chin in a hand before Sonny’s mouth could find its prize.

“Look at me,” Jonas commanded softly, and Sonny rolled his eyes upward, finding the reverend’s dark stare. Jonas smiled at the look on Sonny’s face—parted lips, flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, wet hair flopped onto his forehead—and said, “Alright then, but only a sample.” He ran his thumb along Sonny’s jaw for a moment before drawing his hand back to hang by his side.

Granted permission, Sonny dipped his head forward and caught the underside of Jonas’s cock on his tongue, closing his lips around the reverend’s erection. Jonas didn’t move or make a sound, but Sonny could feel the rapid pulse of his heart against his tongue. He could taste the lingering, bitter sting of soap, but he didn’t care; beneath it, he could taste _Jonas_ , that unique flavor that had become achingly familiar so quickly.

Sonny pushed his head forward, drawing Jonas to the back of his throat and hesitating as he fought his body’s urge to gag. His hand tightened reflexively against Jonas’s thigh. Part of him wanted Jonas to move—to fist a hand in Sonny’s hair and force him to accept the cock into his strained throat—even though his eyes were already watering and his brain was screaming for oxygen.

“That’s enough,” Jonas said.

Sonny considered ignoring him and pushing forward—it would be worth it to hear the mingled surprise and pleasure in the sounds he would wring from Jonas’s throat—but he drew back instead, gulping steamy air into his lungs. He looked at Jonas’s erection, now dripping saliva, and desperately wanted to suck it clean. He looked up at Jonas’s face through the blur of tears.

“Later,” Jonas promised with a smirk.

Sonny turned his attention to Jonas’s stomach, blinking to clear his eyes, and began massaging below the reverend’s navel with his thumbs, smiling when the erection in front of him twitched in response. Sonny massaged his way outward, into the hollows of Jonas’s hips and down toward his pelvis. Jonas shifted his feet a bit and then stilled, regaining control of himself.

Sonny worked up a final lather between his hands before dropping the bar of soap into the tub without ceremony. He ran his palms around Jonas’s hips, under the curve of his ass cheeks, down the backs of his thighs to his knees, kneading gently as he went. He slid his fingers over Jonas’s tight calves and down to his ankles before flattening his palms over the reverend’s feet. He dragged his thumbs along Jonas’s arches.

Jonas curled his toes against the wet porcelain, and Sonny looked up. “Ticklish?” he asked, grinning when Jonas narrowed his eyes in response. “Turn around?” Sonny heard his own voice lilt upward at the end, and Jonas stared down at him, cocking an eyebrow in response. “Turn around,” Sonny repeated with more authority, and Jonas pushed off the wall with his shoulders, doing an enviable swivel that made Sonny swallow against the sudden dryness of his mouth.

Jonas put his forearms against the wall, letting his back curve, and Sonny couldn’t resist: he bent forward and pressed a kiss to one dripping cheek before sinking his teeth into the flesh of Jonas’s ass—hard enough to leave a mark, but not one that would last through the night. Jonas hissed a breath through his teeth but didn’t pull away, and he spread his feet to the curves of the tub at a gentle nudge from Sonny’s knuckles.

Sonny felt around beside himself until he found the discarded soap, fumbling until he was able to snatch it up.

“Need some help back there?” Jonas asked, sounding amused.

“Slippery,” Sonny muttered, and Jonas laughed—that little hiccup in the middle of his laugh was one of Sonny’s favorite sounds, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life making Jonas laugh like that. For now, he was angling for different noises, though, and he palmed one side of Jonas’s ass, flicking his tongue against the reverend’s wet skin at the dimple just above one perfect mound of pale flesh.

Jonas was in remarkable shape—hard and lean and deceptively strong—but he was also soft in all of Sonny’s favorite places, and the sheriff took a minute to slowly and adoringly wash every curve and dip of Jonas’s ass, massaging and kneading—and occasionally kissing and nipping, to see just how much leeway Jonas was prepared to allow him.

He could feel the tension thrumming through Jonas’s body in spite of the reverend’s relaxed posture, and Sonny finally pushed himself to his feet with a wince. He lathered Jonas’s lower back, up across the expanse of his muscular shoulders, along his biceps as he pressed himself close to the reverend’s body. He kissed the curve of Jonas’s neck and slid his hands down to his waist, fingers still curled loosely around the soap.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Jonas asked in a silky voice, tipping his head as Sonny sucked at the side of his neck.

“Mmhmm.”

Jonas lowered an arm and reached back between their bodies, finding Sonny’s erection and circling his long fingers around it. Sonny dropped his forehead against Jonas’s shoulder, unable to stop the small moan that escaped his lips.

“Hmm,” Jonas hummed, “you are eager, aren’t you?”

“You know I never have self-control around you,” Sonny muttered against the other man’s shoulder.

Jonas released him and pushed his fingers against Sonny’s stomach; Sonny stepped back, watching Jonas turn toward him. Jonas ran a hand up Sonny’s stomach, smiling at the ripple that passed through the sheriff’s abdomen. “No, Sonny, you’re a very good boy,” Jonas countered with a smile. “You always earn your rewards, don’t you?”

Sonny groaned, clenching his fist around the soap to keep himself from reaching for Jonas.

“Wash yourself for me,” the reverend commanded softly, dropping his arms to his sides.

Sonny looked down at himself. The water was beating against his lower back and ass and down his legs, and his cock was throbbing painfully. Soaping it would be a sweet torture that he would willingly endure to make Jonas happy. Raising the bar of soap, he started lathering his chest. Determined to give Jonas a show, he circled his thumbs around his nipples several times before sliding the pads of his thumbs over the sensitive buds. He touched his tongue to his lower lip, concentrating on controlling his body’s reactions as he lathered his way down his stomach, crossing his palms back and forth over his abdomen.

He held his breath as he slipped a soapy hand between his legs, under his heavy testicles. He spread his feet involuntarily, but he managed to trap the sound that tried to crawl out of his chest. With his other hand, he dragged the bar of soap, slowly, so slowly, along the length of his erection, refusing to breathe—if he released a breath, it would surely bring with it a whimper. He curled his fingers around himself, soapy skin sliding against soapy skin, and he felt himself twitch against his palm.

“Sonny.”

He looked up to find Jonas’s eyes burning into his.

“Breathe.”

Sonny let out his pent-up breath and the low whine that came with it. Jonas reached out and pulled the soap from his fingers, dropping it with a clatter. He pushed Sonny back into the spray of water and, hands on his shoulders, turned him to face the shower. Sonny tipped his head back as the hot water rinsed the soap from his body and caressed his painfully-sensitive skin. His hands were fisted by his hips.

Jonas slid a hand up Sonny’s exposed throat, fingers and thumb spread beneath his jaw so Sonny’s Adam’s apple was at the center of his palm. Sonny swallowed against the soft pressure of Jonas’s hand. “Breathe,” Jonas whispered at his ear, and Sonny did, letting out another shaky breath. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” Sonny said without hesitation.

“Hmm,” Jonas answered. There was a pause before he asked, barely audible, “All of me?”

Sonny turned his head, and Jonas let his hand slip down from the sheriff’s throat. Sonny met Jonas’s eyes over his shoulder. “Yes,” he repeated. Jonas turned him again, and in a moment his tongue was in Sonny’s mouth, their lips smashed together. Sonny started to lift his hands but Jonas was already drawing away.

“Dry off,” the reverend said. He offered a crooked smile. “Don’t want you getting a chill,” he added.

 

*       *       *

 

“Jonas, I don’t need you to—”

“I need _you_ to, Sonny,” Jonas whispered. He ran his fingers over Sonny’s chest for a moment, watching them play across the flushed skin, before raising his head to meet the sheriff’s eyes. “I won’t ask again,” he said, the words barely audible, and Sonny couldn’t refuse the vulnerability in the other man’s expression.

Sonny searched his face for a moment before nodding. He bent forward and pressed his lips to Jonas’s, and then took hold of his shoulders and turned him toward the bed. Jonas dropped forward onto his hands, spreading his feet on the floor, and the sight was almost more than Sonny could bear. His heart was slamming in his chest as his erection throbbed in painful anticipation.

Sonny grabbed the bottle of lubrication and stepped up behind Jonas, barely breathing as his eyes ate up the beautiful sight of the man bent before him. Every inch of Jonas was perfect, and he was giving himself to Sonny.

The sheriff squirted lube into his hand and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jonas’s back as he slid his fingers along the crack of the reverend’s ass, spreading him open with slippery fingers to apply a liberal dose of lubrication. Jonas drew a breath through his nose, fisting his hands into the bedspread and inching his feet further apart as Sonny slipped a finger inside him.

Sonny kissed the small of Jonas’s back before straightening. Adding more lube to his hand, he quickly coated his own erection, giving the base of his cock a brief but tight squeeze as he tossed the closed bottle onto the bed. Then he put his hands against Jonas’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart and using his slick thumbs to open him. Jonas made a sound and shifted, pushing himself back against Sonny’s hands.

Sonny knew what Jonas wanted, and he knew what it meant that he was offering himself up in this way, but Sonny hesitated. This was uncharted territory for him. For a moment, he considered asking Jonas to tell him what to do; but that wasn’t what Jonas wanted, not now, not like this.

Sonny pressed two fingers into Jonas’s opening, stretching him, lubricating him, and after a few seconds he bent his fingers down. Jonas gasped, his hips jerking against the foot of the bed. Sonny smiled and withdrew his fingers.

“Up on the bed,” he said.

Jonas lifted his head, momentarily surprised, but he glanced quickly over his shoulder and crawled up onto the bed without objection. He stopped halfway up the mattress on his hands and knees, waiting, and Sonny got onto the bed behind him, running his hands lightly up and down the sides of Jonas’s thighs before reaching between the reverend’s legs to give his erection a few gentle strokes. Jonas grunted and dropped his head forward, his wet hair falling over his face.

Sonny straightened and reached forward to put a palm between Jonas’s shoulder blades, pushing him down. Jonas let his elbows bend, dropping his upper body forward while leaving his ass in the air. Turning his head so his cheek was pressed against the bed, he looked back at Sonny and their eyes met.

Sonny knew that Jonas didn’t trust easily; in fact, it was possible that he’d never fully trusted anyone, and this position of vulnerability was symbolic. Sonny didn’t miss the importance of the moment, and he held Jonas’s gaze as he positioned himself and pushed the head of his cock into the reverend.

Jonas’s eyelids drooped and then closed. “Sonny,” he breathed.

The sheriff entered him slowly, gasping at the tightness. His body was screaming at him for release, but he paused, giving Jonas time to adjust. Jonas reached back a hand, clutching at Sonny’s hip, and tried to shift himself backward to take the last bit of the sheriff’s length.

“Easy, honey,” Sonny said, taking hold of Jonas’s hips to steady himself as much as the other man. Jonas stilled, and Sonny drew back, slowly withdrawing. He could feel Jonas tightening, trying to pull him back in, and it took all of Sonny’s willpower to keep his movements slow. He pushed forward again, and Jonas made a sound that made Sonny’s cock throb. “ _Jesus_ , you feel good,” Sonny breathed.

“Don’t get used to it,” Jonas said, and Sonny laughed. Jonas curled his fingers around Sonny’s thigh, and added, “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Sonny pulled back and flexed his hips forward, filling Jonas hard and fast and rocking him forward into the mattress.

“ _Ah_ , God—”

“Jonas—”

“Yes, Sonny,” Jonas said, his voice muffled by the bedspread. “Just like that.”

Sonny repeated the movement, but this time he didn’t stop. Holding Jonas’s hips, Sonny started fucking him, slamming into him again and again without pause. Sonny was panting, unsure how long he would be able to deny his body the release that it so desperately craved. He wanted to hold on; he wanted to give Jonas what he wanted, what he needed, but it was all too much—the hot tightness around him, the soft grunts that Jonas was making into the blanket, the sight of Jonas’s perfect body completely opened to him.

Sonny gave his head a shake, barely noticing the slap of wet hair against his forehead. Clenching his jaw, he vowed he would wait as long as necessary. He could control himself—

“Ready?” Jonas asked.

“I can wait,” Sonny panted. “I—”

“No, Sonny, _now_. I want to know you’re mine,” Jonas said, his voice rough and uneven, but Sonny heard the unspoken words: _I need to know I’m yours._

Sonny made a strangled sound but didn’t let himself go, not yet. He reached back a hand and tickled his fingers over the arch of Jonas’s foot. Jonas uttered a surprised sound and kicked his foot back, straightening his leg. Quickly returning his hand to Jonas’s hip, Sonny pushed Jonas to the bed, following him down, sinking to the hilt as the reverend flattened to the mattress.

Jonas cursed on a gasp; he curled his feet over Sonny’s calves and reached back with both arms, clutching at Sonny’s thighs. “Come for me,” he said into the blanket.

Sonny couldn’t refuse; he’d never been able to refuse, and he pushed his knee into the mattress, rutting awkwardly, desperately, three hard thrusts and his body was trembling as he filled Jonas with his seed. Jonas was panting beneath him, and Sonny collapsed onto his back, kissing—a bit frantically—at the reverend’s shoulder and neck.

“I am yours,” Sonny breathed raggedly into the curve of Jonas’s shoulder. “And you’re mine.”

Jonas, his arms still bent up behind himself, ran his hands up and down Sonny’s sides, caressing his sweaty skin. He could barely breathe beneath the weight of Sonny’s body.

“Turn over,” Sonny said.

Jonas looked up at him from the corner of an eye. “You have to get out of my ass, first,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Take your time,” Jonas murmured, a dimple peeking out of his cheek.

Sonny gathered his resolve and pushed himself up, slowly and carefully withdrawing himself from Jonas’s body. Jonas let his hands and feet fall away as Sonny levered himself up to kneel between the reverend’s thighs.

Sonny’s muscles were trembling, but he carefully shifted one leg and then the other until he was kneeling on either side of Jonas’s legs. He tapped Jonas’s hip with a finger, and Jonas rolled his upper body, letting his ankles cross between Sonny’s.

Jonas watched as Sonny’s gaze traced the lines of his body and settled onto his cock: hard and dark, shiny, head slick with precum. Sonny shifted himself backward, straddling Jonas’s crossed legs, and leaned forward, pressing his elbows into the mattress at Jonas’s hips.

“Stop.”

Sonny looked up with his forehead creased in concern. Jonas lifted a hand and ran his fingers down Sonny’s cheek, along his jaw, up over his lips and nose and along the lines of his forehead.

“Tell me,” Jonas said.

Sonny hesitated. He wanted to oblige, but he wasn’t sure what Jonas wanted from him.

“Have you thought about this?” Jonas prompted.

Sonny felt the tension leave his muscles as comprehension dawned. “Yes,” he said. “Every night when I was trying to sleep, every morning when I woke up.”

“When you woke up…?”

“Hard. Wanting you. Wishing the dreams were real.”

“Poor baby,” Jonas murmured. “Did you touch yourself?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No. I saved it all for you.” Sonny paused and suddenly grinned. “Can’t you feel it?”

Jonas’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Dripping onto your comforter as we speak,” he said, and Sonny laughed. “I’ve missed you, too,” he admitted quietly.

“Let me suck you,” Sonny blurted, spreading a hand over Jonas’s thigh. “Please, Jonas—”

“Is that what you want? To see if you can suck out everything I’ve stored up for you?” Jonas laughed.

Sonny hesitated, and Jonas’s expression sobered as he looked up at him. “No, I want you to fuck my mouth—my throat—until you come,” Sonny said, and he felt Jonas pull in a quick breath.

Jonas regained his composure quickly, and looked down at himself before offering Sonny a smirk and an arched brow. “That shouldn’t take long,” he said. He hadn’t granted permission, though, in spite of his body’s desperate need.

“Please,” Sonny repeated.

Jonas smiled. “Come get your offering, then,” he murmured, watching from beneath heavy lids as Sonny quickly and eagerly bent forward. He pulled as much of Jonas’s length into his mouth as he could, and Jonas groaned, his stomach tightening as he struggled to keep his hips on the bed.

Sonny traced a vein with his tongue, but he kept his ministrations gentle; he knew that Jonas was already teetering on the edge of self-control, and Sonny had made it clear what he wanted from the reverend.

Sonny’s hands were gripping Jonas’s thighs, but Jonas took hold of his wrists and moved his hands up until Sonny’s fingers were curved over Jonas’s hip-bones. Sonny would have better leverage, if needed, that way.

Jonas slipped the fingers of both hands into Sonny’s damp hair and pulled his head down slowly, sliding himself to the back of Sonny’s throat before pausing. Sonny held onto Jonas’s pelvis, bracing himself mentally as much as physically.

“Breathe,” Jonas commanded.

Sonny drew air through his nose and closed his eyes, concentrating on controlling his gag reflex and his body’s natural urge to pull away. Jonas pulled his head down a little further, forcing himself partway into Sonny’s throat, testing him. Sonny held on, determined not to disappoint him.

Jonas uncrossed his ankles and bent his knee up against the inside of Sonny’s thigh, digging a heel into the mattress. He pulled Sonny’s hair, lifting his head partway. He waited until the sheriff drew a breath, and then pulled his head back down, levering his own hips up at the same time, driving himself into Sonny’s throat.

Sonny gagged, he couldn’t help it, but he kept his mouth tight and his body loose, trusting Jonas as the reverend started a fast and punishing pace, fucking himself against Sonny’s face.

Sonny knew he didn’t have to endure for long—Jonas was so close that Sonny already had a steady trickle of precum leaking into his throat; tears were streaming down his face as he fought the urge to retch with each thrust—but in spite of his faith in Jonas, he could feel the encroaching panic. He dug his hands into Jonas’s hips and started to push involuntarily.

But Jonas had already stopped thrusting and was pulling Sonny’s head up, freeing his throat. “Suck,” Jonas said roughly, his hands fisted in the sheriff’s hair.

Sonny obliged immediately, tightening his lips and pressing the head of Jonas’s cock against the roof of his mouth as he sucked—hard. Jonas made a strangled sound and bucked upward, involuntarily, and suddenly Sonny’s mouth and throat and sinuses were filled with salty ejaculate; a never-ending supply, it seemed for a few moments as Sonny’s tired throat struggled to swallow everything that Jonas had to offer him.

“Sonny,” Jonas breathed, trying to shift his hips away, and Sonny obediently lifted his head, swiping at his mouth with the back of a wrist. Jonas gestured with one hand. “C’mere,” he said, and Sonny pushed himself forward, crawling up the length of Jonas’s body to meet his kiss. Jonas wiped the tears from Sonny’s cheeks with the broad pads of his thumbs and searched his face. Sonny’s arms were trembling as he struggled to support himself, so Jonas wrapped an arm around him and pulled him down. Sonny let himself collapse against the other man’s chest with a sound of relief, and Jonas chuckled softly, running fingers through the sheriff’s hair. “Sonny,” he said again.

“Hmm,” Sonny answered. His cheek was pressed against Jonas’s slick chest, their bodies rising and falling with each heavy breath. Jonas didn’t immediately say anything else, and Sonny waited, listening to the thuds of the other man’s heart.

“You haven’t changed your mind?” Jonas finally asked. His arms were circled loosely around Sonny, and his voice was low. “You can tell me if you have.”

Sonny, safe and warm against Jonas’s body, was already halfway to drifting off, and it took him a minute to understand what Jonas was asking. “Changed my mind?” he mumbled, frowning.

He both heard and felt Jonas swallow before the reverend said, “You’ve had time to think things through, and...I’d understand—”

Sonny lifted his heavy head to look at him. “You mean about _you_?” he asked.

Jonas let his arms fall to the bed. “Me,” he agreed. “Us.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “Everything happened so quickly, I know—”

“Shut up,” Sonny said.

Jonas’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Shut _up_?” he repeated incredulously.

“That’s right,” Sonny said, levering himself a bit higher. “I thought you could read me?” He waited, but Jonas didn’t answer. “Well? Go ahead,” Sonny said. Jonas stared up at him, and Sonny saw his expression soften. After a moment he felt Jonas’s fingers at his hip; his touch was light, tentative. Unsure. Sonny couldn’t believe that this man—this beautiful and kind and brilliant, this perfect man beneath him—was insecure about Sonny’s feelings.

Sonny pushed himself to the side, rolling onto his back, and Jonas turned his head to watch him go. Sonny reached for him and saw something like pain flit across Jonas’s features. The reverend hesitated before rolling cautiously toward him. All of his bravado was gone, and he allowed himself to be gathered against Sonny’s chest.

“I know it’s been hard, but that’s over,” Sonny said, holding Jonas against himself. Jonas settled a hand onto Sonny’s stomach. “You have a home, here,” Sonny continued. “You can relax, Jonas. You’re safe. You’re free to do what you want, _be_ who you want.”

Jonas released a shaky breath, his fingers curling on Sonny’s stomach. He didn’t answer, but Sonny could feel the tension leaving his body.

“I’ll protect you,” Sonny vowed. “Forever.”

“Forever,” Jonas said softly, as though testing the word on his tongue.

“You asked if I would have you. I said yes. So I guess the only question left is, have you changed _your_ mind?”

Jonas burrowed tighter against him, drawing up a leg to bend it over Sonny’s. “You’re mine,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Sonny agreed.

“Forever.”

Sonny smiled, stroking Jonas’s back. “Yeah,” he repeated. He felt Jonas slowly relax into his heat, and their breaths evened out. Sonny’s eyelids drooped. He wanted to get a blanket but didn’t want to move. He’d just started to slip into sleep when Jonas’s voice surprised him, and his eyes fluttered open.

“You’re gonna pay for that tickling trick,” Jonas said, running a finger lazily up and down Sonny’s stomach. He paused. “When I’m feeling less generous,” he added before pressing a kiss to Sonny’s chest.

Sonny laughed. “Worth it,” he answered. His eyes were slipping closed, again. “You cold?” he asked, yawning. “Want me to get a blanket?”

“I’ll get it. Rest up, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Sonny murmured. He was already asleep when Jonas returned to his side in a matter of seconds, drawing a blanket over their bodies and snuggling against Sonny’s side. The sheriff stirred for only a moment, wrapping his arms around Jonas. “Love you,” he mumbled sleepily.

“You’re the real miracle, Sonny,” Jonas said softly. He knew that Sonny wasn’t listening, but he finished anyway: “And I love you, too.”


End file.
